Disclaimers: The due South characters
remain the property ofAlliance Atlantis. For adult readers only, please.
Written forpleasure, not profit. Previously published in the
fanzine SergeProtector.

Notes: Thanks go to Crysothemis, Dawn Pares, and Kat
Allison fordown-in-the-trenches beta. This story is the first
time Mairead andBone have worked together, which is pretty appropriate
for theMillenium, in a kind of lion-and-lamb-sharing-a-sleeping-bag
sort ofway.

Ray squeezed his eyes closed against the bright, fluorescent
lightof the squadroom, and thought (as he frequently did)
that he shouldhave known better. He had Saturday shift this week
-- something thatnormally would have been nothing more than a routine
pain in theass, if it hadn't been for the fact that Friday night's
retirementparty for Detective First Class George Stavropoulous
had left himwith a First Class hangover.

As a result, pain in the ass didn't even begin to describe
it.

Thud-thump. Thud-thump.

Beat of heart, beat of head. Both feeling like they
were strugglingalong against overwhelming odds, and were thinking
seriously aboutgiving it up as a bad job. His head hurt. His stomach
hurt. Hismouth tasted like maybe he'd licked the floor of a
holding cell whenhe wasn't paying attention.

And of course, this had to be the day when Welsh decided
thatSaturday duty wasn't bad enough, but that somebody
had to show thenew guy the ropes and hey, Vecchio -- try to explain
the paperworkwithout mentioning that you never do any yourself,
okay? Ray hadagreed out of desperation, a gut-churning need to
get away from thesmell of long-ago roast beef and mustard that haunted
Welsh'soffice.

On top of that it was also Frannie's turn for Saturday
shift, whichmeant she had to miss her niece's piano recital or
some such crap,which meant she was even more pissy than usual, which
meant that shetook it out on everybody by making coffee so bad that
even Welshwouldn't drink it.

Thud-thump.

So -- the new guy; a transfer from somewhere back east.
With the wayhis luck was going today he would probably be some
New Yorksmartass, or some rube with a Maine twang that would
cut through hishead like--

"Detective Vecchio?"

Ray pried one eye open, wincing. Given the glaring
light and noglasses and his head, pretty much all he caught was
an outline. Areally, really big outline.

He cleared his throat. "You're not, like, a bad guy
or anything, areyou? Because I gotta tell you -- I'm not in the mood,
pal."

The outline came closer and sat down at the chair next
to his desk,clarifying into a broad-shouldered guy with light
brown, buzz-cuthair and chiseled features that didn't quite match
the hard gleam inhis eyes. Pale blue eyes. Bright. Ray squinted.

"Charlie Darnell. From Boston PD. I was told to ask
for you--"

"Right, right, right, Stavropoulos' replacement." He
offered a hand,and received one of those 'I'm a goddamn cop' handshakes.
"Look,Darnell--"

The man smiled, proving that the brightness of his
eyes had nothingon his teeth. "Call me Charlie."

That was definitely a Boston twang. Slightly better
than Maine,anyway. Ray nodded, then wished he hadn't. "Ray. Just
let me getsome stuff together here--"

He would have continued, except that as he spoke Francesca
swoopedin as if out of thin air, making him jump. Her hands
flutteredrestlessly, tucking her hair firmly behind one ear,
playing with hernecklace. The whisk and rustle of leather over nylon
seemed suddenlyvery loud. "You're him? You're the new
guy?" Ray caught that'what-shall-we-name-the-children' look on her face,
and smiled eventhough it hurt to do it.

"Uh... yeah..." Those blue eyes had gone wide and uncertain.Apparently ol' Charlie wasn't quite the hardcase he
seemed to be.Ray sighed and leaned on his fist.

"Charlie Darnell, my sister Francesca. Civilian Aid.
Hey, I happento know that she made the coffee, if you'd--"

He had to whip his foot out of the way quick to keep
it from beingpierced by a spiked pump. "Actually, I was just about
to make somecappuccino, Detective Darnell." Ray wondered absently
if he could beabsorbing some kind of weird female hormone just from
listening toher voice. "And then I'd be happy to take you around
the station,show you the ropes--"

"Ropes if you're lucky," he murmured, and pulled
the other footaway fast. "Hey, Frannie, correct me if I'm wrong,
here, but didn'tyou say something to Welsh about how you were way
too busy with caseresearch to put in any time on... what did you call
it? 'Pottytraining', or something like that--"

She turned on him fiercely, and for a split second
it was likehaving a sister -- if he'd ever had one, he would
have bet goodmoney that she would have looked at him like that.
Obviously hehadn't missed much. Frannie smoothed out quick, however,
sinceapparently it was more important not to scare off
the new hunk thanit was to tear Ray a new asshole. "But Ray, you know
I'm never toobusy to stand by our boys in blue --" a smooth shift,
and sheswitched over to Darnell with another prizewinning
smile. "I justlove cops. They're like... knights or something. All
that...nobility."

Darnell smiled back at her, and while she melted he
caught Ray's eyewith a glance of commiseration. Ray winked, and waved
them both offso he could put his head back down on his files as
soon as possible.

He watched Darnell stand, registered Frannie's soft
breath ofsurprise -- the guy had to be at least six foot six
-- and tuned outthe sound of Frannie's voice as she led him away,
asking some stupidquestion about his gun.

A bonus all around. Looked like Fraser might actually
get a break,Frannie-wise. Ray closed his eyes.

Okay, so he should have known better. Again. Should
have knownpulling that Saturday shift wouldn't get him any favors
four dayslater. When Welsh offered to let him off the hook
on the Bennetticase (lots of footwork and an evidence search that
would start atthe city dump -- not exactly a plum assignment), he
should have seenthe bait-and-switch before he jumped.

But he hadn't.

"Since you're not going to be digging up the Bennetti
evidence,Detective, I think it would be best if you got that
paperworkbacklog off your desk, don't you agree?"

Suddenly the dump didn't seem like such a bad deal.
"Well, you know,Lieutenant, about that Bennetti thing--"

"And furthermore," Welsh interrupted smoothly, "since
we've had aquiet week around here I think it would be abundantly
possible foryou to have said paperwork completed and on my desk
by lunchtimetomorrow -- that's twenty-four hours from now."

"Uh... Lieutenant--"

"Go in peace, Detective. May the force be with you.
In triplicate."

Damn.

And so now, when he'd been looking forward to an afternoon
ofscheming up interesting things he could leave in Huey
and Dewey'sdesk while they were out dump-fishing, and looking
forward to lunchwith Fraser and Dief to try to figure out which of
the three of themcould handle the hottest chili, now he had nothing
to look forwardto except...

Fucking paperwork. In triplicate. Ray sighed, bit his
penvengefully, and got down to it.

There was a noise, a nagging, incessant distraction
-- somethinglike Chinese water torture only it was too far away
to care about.And anyway, he wasn't going to look up until he figured
out how tospell 'interrogation' -- which was just stupid because
it wasn'tlike he didn't write it enough--

"Ray!"

He whipped his head up. "Fraser. Oh jeez... I forgot
to call. Look,I was gonna call you but then I got into this thing
here that I haveto do since I'm not at the dump and I just... hey,
I can't makelunch today, okay? See, the Lieutenant's got this
strange idea thatsomehow I can get caught up on a six month backlog
in less thantwenty four hours, and I don't know what evidence
locker he's beensniffing but--"

"Ray!"

He blinked. Sometimes facing Fraser's uniform was liked
gettingsmacked in the head with something... well, something
really red."Yeah, Fraser?"

"You can't go to lunch with me?"

"Boy, nothing gets past you, does it?" He twisted his
head abruptly,and the tension in his neck eased with a satisfying
crack.

"And you were too busy to let me know of the change
in plans?"

"Not too busy, Fraser; I just forgot. I think it's
probably all theWite Out I've been breathing."

"I see." Ah. Fraser's disapproval. Life just wouldn't
be lifewithout it. The sad thing was that Dief looked pretty
bummed outtoo. He shouldn't have bragged up that chili so much.

"Look, Fraser, I'll make it up to you -- day after
tomorrow, and wecan--"

"Excuse me." Darnell. Apparently out of nowhere, appearing
somehowright next to his desk. That such a big guy could
move that quietlyseemed... weird. Just weird. Ray shook his head. Darnell
wassmiling. "You must be the Constable I've heard all
the storiesabout."

Ray watched Fraser slide from irritation to that apple-polisher
lookin the blink of an eye. "Indeed. Constable Benton
Fraser, RoyalCanadian Mounted Police. I first came to Chicago on
the trail--"

Ray cleared his throat, and craned way back to get
a look all theway up to Darnell's face. "His dad is dead but he
caught the badguy, and now he's an attached lesion to--"

"Liaison, Ray."

"What I said. Fraser, this is Charlie, George's replacement
fromBoston. As far as I know he came here on the trail
of a job--"

"I'm sure he did, Ray--"

And then, from Darnell, cutting smoothly across both
their voices:"Would you like to go to lunch with me?"

That was so unexpected that silence descended for a
moment. Rayblinked and looked at Fraser, who was looking at Darnell.

Darnell seemed to take it in stride, however. He took
a stepforward, pretty much the only one left between him
and Fraser, andjust kept on smiling. "I heard Ray here tell you that
he's busy, andI was just about to go try a new Greek restaurant
I heard about --would you like to join me?"

All on their own, Ray's hands found his glasses and
fumbled themonto his face. He caught the look, the intensity,
the intent inDarnell's blue eyes, and his stomach seemed to fold
in on itself. OhGod.

Ray knew that look. He'd seen it at least once on the
face of everyfemale in the station, and at least once a day on
the face ofFrancesca Vecchio. And here it was... on a guy. A
big, strappingcop guy. What the fuck?

He should say something. He knew he should say
something, that tonot say something was going to hook him right back
to one of those'should have known better' moments, but for the life
of him hecouldn't figure out what the hell he could
say. Not until he gotFraser alone.

Which looked like it might be a while, if Darnell's
grin wasanything to go by. "Yup. Greek. You like Greek?"

Ray's face burned, something that usually only happened
when he didsomething incredibly stupid in front of Stella.

Fraser, however, was blush-free. Of course he was.
"Very much so. Doyou like wolves?"

It was the first time Ray had ever heard Darnell laugh,
and he foundthat he didn't like it. Not at all. The muscles in
his shoulderstensed to the point of pain.

"Hell, yeah," Darnell agreed enthusiastically, and
Ray could onlywatch while the guy steered Fraser towards the door
with one hugehand on his shoulder. "Everybody loves wolves. You
gotta bark at themoon, don't you, Constable?"

Fraser looked... even more stupidly trusting than usual,
strollingaway like that as if all was right with the world.
"I take it thatyou're referring to 'wolf music', and indeed, I must
say that it'sgratifying to find another aficionado of that particular
song." Afamiliar, dry Fraser chuckle. "In fact, there was
this one time,when I was bivouacked on the edge of a forest in the
Yukonunderneath a full moon near the end of November; when
it came to myattention that my camp had been surrounded by..."

And then they were gone. Ray realized slowly that his
mouth washanging open, and he shut it with a snap. All the
blood in his veinsseemed to be percolating, and there was a terribly
confused sense ofnot knowing whether to laugh his ass off, or grab
his gun and gorescue Fraser.

Neither option seemed quite like what he wanted. There
were probablya few other options he should consider, but right
now his brain wasso full of Greek/wolf/Fraser combinations that he
couldn't evenbegin to figure out what they were.

In the end, he just closed his eyes for a few moments,
then shookhimself all over. He shrugged, and started going through
his deskdrawers in search of a fresh bottle of Wite Out. He
found someeventually, and it was a damn good thing he did because
it turnedout that he needed it -- suddenly his typing fingers
had turnedstupid on him. Probably shouldn't have skipped lunch.

That familiar, faint frown-line of confusion bunched
up on Fraser'sforehead. "Today? Were you supposed to hear from me?
Did I forgetsomething--"

Ray twisted his shoulders inside his leather jacket.
"No, Fraser,you didn't forget anything, like you would, but I
thought that afterwhat happened yesterday--"

Fraser nodded, and his forehead smoothed out. "Ah.
About lunchyesterday? Consider it forgotten -- water under the
culvert--"

"Bridge. Under the bridge, Fraser. And this isn't about
that. Thisis about... that other thing."

Fraser's head tilted, and for a moment he looked so
much like Diefthat Ray wanted to laugh. "Other thing? And what thing
would thatbe, Ray?"

Naturally. Naturally Fraser couldn't pull his head
out long enoughto make this, like, easy on him or anything. Ray shifted
to theother foot before he could stop himself. "The other
thing, the otherlunch, the other... look, are you gonna keep me standing
out hereall night?"

The door swung wide. "Oh, of course not, Ray. Please
come in."

The Consulate always gave him the creeps at night.
He followedFraser down the hallway, knowing that he was working
hard to keephis steps silent. How in the hell could the guy sleep
here?

It was better, at least a little, in Fraser's little
hole of anoffice. It smelled better, or something. He took a
chair, the leastuncomfortable of a really uncomfortable bunch. The
desk lamp wasstill on, and there were two neat piles of forms centered
on theotherwise uncluttered surface. "Hey -- am I interrupting
something,here? I mean --"

"Not at all. I was just preparing a few materials in
advance of...you see, Inspector Thatcher is... well, the Argentine
Ambassador hasbeen paying us -- I mean her -- a visit, and--"

Ray waved it off. "It's Canadian stuff, I get it. I
don't need toknow. Okay."

Fraser stared at him curiously. "Ray, are you all right?
You seemrather agitated--"

"Agitated, agitated, right -- that's good. That's real
good, Fraser;real top-notch observing, there." He rubbed his eyes,
and almost hadto pry them open afterwards. He should be home and
crashed out rightnow, catching up on sleep after yesterday's nineteen-hour
shift andtoday's sixteen-hour shift, instead of... where he
was.

But no. He was here, and he wasn't about to walk out
without sayingwhat needed to be said. He'd put it off long enough.
If Fraserdidn't know... well, Fraser couldn't know. And if
he did, he didn'tknow enough. Which was a problem, or could be. How
that had come tobe his problem, he wasn't sure, except that
when he'd picked upVecchio's baggage, the Mountie'd come as part of the
package, and heguessed that made him responsible, in a strange sort
of way.

Whyever, it needed to be done, and so there he was.
Doing it.

"The other thing, that other thing I mentioned." It
really was hardto get the words past the tightness in his throat.
Surprisinglyhard. "It's about Darnell."

Fraser's head tilted again. "Detective Darnell?"

Ray nodded, and forced himself to meet Fraser's inquiring
eyes."Yeah. Detective Darnell. The guy who asked you to
lunch."

Fraser frowned slightly. "And Detective Darnell is
the... otherthing? Forgive me if I seem to be confused by that
statement, Ray,but I--"

A suspicion dawned on him, prickling the back of his
neck. "Let meguess -- you knew that already, right? Something about
his smell orthe way he holds his fork or something--"

At least that got him a smile. "No, Ray, I wasn't aware
of that factabout Detective Darnell. As far as I can determine
he handles a forkin a perfectly ordinary way, and he smells just fine--"

"Fraser, I did not need to know that --"

"But what puzzles me is why you felt moved to inform
me of this...aspect of Detective Darnell's lifestyle."

Ray shifted in the chair before his butt went totally
numb. "Youdon't know why."

"No, I must say that I don't."

Just when he thought the hard part was over. Jesus.
"Well, isn't itobvious? I mean, the guy asked you to lunch, Fraser--"

"Yes he did, Ray; and it was very kind of him to do
so, since youwere otherwise occupied. I think, in fact, that you'd
enjoy thatrestaurant very much--"

"Fraser!"

For a guy who told the truth so damn much, there was
nobody to holda candle to him when it came to evasion, that was
for sure. Ray'shands twisted in his lap. Hands on hold, temper on
hold, check.

"Yes, Ray?"

"You don't get it, do you? I mean, the guy wasn't just
asking you tolunch, he was asking you to lunch, okay?"

Fraser was back to squinting. "Are you saying that
Detective Darnellhad motives... other than simply sharing a meal with
me?"

"If you mean am I saying Darnell wants to play hide
the Canadianbacon, then yeah, I am."

Fraser looked lost. "Hide the... could you elucidate,
Ray?"

It occurred to him in one wild and desperate moment
that he couldjust pick up the nearest huge hardback book and whack
Fraser overthe head with it. It might not help get his point
across, but itwould certainly make him feel a hell of a lot better.

"Let's leave the bacon out of it for now, okay, Fraser?
What I meanis that it wasn't lunch like two-guys-at-lunch, it
was lunch likeone-step-closer-to-getting-into-your-longjohns-lunch."

"Ah. I see." Fraser nodded and smiled, and then abruptly
frowned."No I don't. Why on earth would Detective Darnell
want to get intomy longjohns, Ray? For one thing, he's six inches
taller thanmyself, and furthermore--"

He slammed up to his feet before he even knew he was
going to do it."For God's sake, Fraser, nobody can be this frigging
clueless --Darnell asked you to lunch because he's hot for you,
because hewants you, wants to screw you, have sex with you,
do impure thingswith you or however the hell you Canadians put it
-- he wants yourass, Fraser. Is that clear enough for you?"

And wouldn't you know it -- the guy was still calm.
"Yes, Ray,perfectly clear. That's what I thought you were suggesting
-- well,without the profanity, of course. However, when you
then raised thetopic of bacon and longjohns I became confused, and
thought perhapsI'd been mistaken."

He sat back down before his knees went out from under
him. "I hateyou sometimes, Fraser."

And later, sipping a cup of some godawful tea that
Fraser hadinsisted he take to 'calm his nerves': "So. You get
it, then."

Fraser's eyes met his own over the edge of a ceramic
mug with(surprise!) the Canadian flag emblazoned on it. "I
do, Ray. I getit."

Finally. He felt the call of his bed, of his own dark
apartment --something that seemed almost to be pulling at his
tired bones."Good. So watch your step, and I'll do what I can
on my end to keepDarnell away from you. You'll be fine."

Fraser's forehead was bunching up again. "Keep him
away from me? Isthat really necessary, Ray? I mean, if Detective Darnell
were everto make any sort of... overture, I'm perfectly capable
of tellinghim--"

No bed. No rest. Not yet. God. "See? You don't get
it, Fraser. It'snot like... no, it's not that I think I have to defend
your honor oranything like that, it's just... well, people talk.
You know."

Fraser's eyes cut over to the closed door at the side
of his room."Closet?"

"Like, you know, he's open about it, he doesn't care
who knows abouthis... queerness, or whatever. So, if you hang around
with him,buddy up to him, then people are going to talk. Now
do you get it?"

"I believe so, Ray, but I'm curious -- did Detective
Darnell tellyou that he was no longer inside his 'closet'?"

Ray made himself take another sip of tea. It tasted
like... roots,or something. Probably was, but he shouldn't think
about that rightnow. "He didn't have to, Fraser. He propositioned
you right in frontof me. That is not the act of a guy in the
closet."

Fraser had that distant, private look that he got whenever
he'dfigured something out, but didn't feel like sharing
it with the restof the world. Ray hated that look. "Right you
are. Well, I believeI understand everything now, Ray."

Those words were so welcome that all the lingering
irritation seemedto wash away on a wave of exhaustion. "Thank you,
God." He yawned,and felt a pop that went all the way down his spine.
"I gotta go.I'm out on my feet, here--"

"Would you like me to call you a cab?"

"No, no, I just need to get my car pointed in the right
directionand I'll get home fine. I just need sleep."

"Very well. I'll see you off, then."

He caught Fraser's formal wave in his rear-view mirror,
and returnedit without thought. Still calm -- the big idiot still
looked calm.Go figure.

For a case with this much leg-work already done, it
just didn't addup. He had one dead guy, four people with opportunity,
threedifferent people with motive, and two others
who didn't seem torelate to the case at all except that they had means
and they werenearby and the whole thing smelled like one of those
old tuna fishsandwiches out of the lunchroom. Not good.

It was an itch, a tease -- something he should be seeing
but wasn't,something he should be doing but hadn't. He was too
close to it. Tooclose to see. And of course, having Welsh breathe
down his neckabout how the dead guy was an influential businessman
and there werepeople out there who wanted answers, dammit, didn't
help thingsmuch.

Help. He needed help.

And so after working late he went to Fraser, because
if there wasone thing he could count on Fraser for it was to see
thingsdifferently, to get snagged by some detail that everybody
else hadpassed right over. Too bad he didn't have any lickable
evidence tobring with him.

He went to Fraser, but Fraser wasn't there. Of course.

Fraser was AWOL. Had been for a couple of weeks now.
There, butsomehow... not there. It wasn't all him. Ray'd been
burning themidnight oil some himself, off doing stuff when Fraser
came to thestation, missing him by a few minutes, as he'd find
out when heasked Frannie if she'd seen him. They'd pass sometimes,
in the hall,and talk about the cases in shorthand over their shoulders
as theybrushed by each other.

That wasn't so strange. Not really. But usually they'd
findthemselves in the car going somewhere, or getting
something to eat,or something. Some concentrated time they could talk
about stuff,get on the same page. He didn't know how much he'd
counted on thatuntil wham he didn't have it anymore.

Benton Fraser, Missing in Action.

It didn't help that Welsh was riding his ass hard,
like whatevergrace period he'd gotten in the Vecchio transition
had expired andnow he was just another cop to harass. Days were passing
under hisfeet without him noticing much more than the fact
that the take-outcartons in his trashcan were piling up, and he always
seemed to beout of clean shirts.

It was fucking depressing.

The Consulate was locked up tight and shadowed in darkness,
and evenafter he let himself in with his credit card and made
his slow waydown the black and silent hall to Fraser's room there
was nothing,nobody there, nobody at all which seemed just too
weird all of asudden -- the Twilight Zone, Canadian style. He made
sure to lock upwhen he left.

He meant to go home after that, to sit down and spread
out all thefiles and go over everything again and really look
because he wassure the answer was there, somewhere. He meant to
go home butsomehow it didn't work out that way -- somehow, after
he locked theConsulate door and turned towards his car he just
kept walking,letting the case and Fraser and all of the details
fill his mind.

He knew the facts. He knew Fraser. It seemed like those
two thingsshould be easy to combine -- as if the space that
Fraser occupied inhis mind could be slipped on like another pair of
glasses, tintingthe world with Fraservision.

And yeah, okay, that was kinda scary, but there was
no point indwelling on it.

He considered one possibility after another -- about
the case, aboutFraser, about his current inability to really get
a grip on eitherone. When he came back to himself and looked up he
found that he'dwalked about ten blocks from the Consulate, and was
currentlystanding in the middle of a bunch of freaks and hookers
and dust-heads; everybody everywhere looking to score, with
one thing oranother. The street was alive. The people around him
seemed somehowto be more real than he was himself. He was one of
them. He wasn't.He was.

And all that strangeness was too much for one tired
and underpaiddetective to face, so he slipped into the nearest
bar and blinkeduntil the outside neon had faded from his eyes. He
bellied up. Heordered a beer. He felt eyes on the back of his neck
and turned, andthen he jerked upright almost fast enough to knock
him off his stoolbecause those were known eyes, Fraser's eyes
-- Fraser was here,as if he'd collected himself from the stock of Ray's
thoughts andjust taken shape, somehow.

Fraser at a table in the corner. Fraser in this...
dive.

Ray blinked again and his vision widened, and when
it registeredthat Fraser was seated at one of the crappy, tilting
tables acrossfrom Darnell, he drew in a deep and involuntary
breath, sawdustand beer and a faint hint of piss sucked right down
deep and all theway to the bottom of his lungs. Fraser and Darnell.

Fraser and Darnell.

He had no time to deal with it before Fraser was coming
right forhim, looking surprised and pleased and a little too
flushed to becomfortable in that flannel shirt and leather jacket
-- radiatingcolor and heat, and Ray drew in on himself without
noticing, notwanting to be touched. Thought Fraser might just burn
him, if hetouched him now.

"Ray!" Fraser seemed to read him (as he usually did),
and didn'ttouch him. There was that, at least.

"Fraser."

"I can't even begin to imagine how you found me. Perhaps
yourtracking skills are--"

"I wasn't looking for you, Fraser. I just wanted a
beer."

Fraser nodded. "Serendipity, then. Would you like to
join us? Thecorner is relatively quiet, more conducive to conversation--"

Too much. Too much. His face was hot, again, but it
wasn'tembarrassment. Not at all. "What the hell do you think
you'redoing?"

"Ray?"

His lips were numb. His hands were numb. "I thought
you were goingto stay away from Darnell."

Fraser seemed to be considering that. "Well, you see,
Ray, it was myunderstanding that your objection to Detective Darnell
was inrelation to people talking about my interactions with
him. In lightof that, he suggested this place, which he said was
an unlikelylocale for either off-duty police officers or Consulate
employees --although, given the fact that you're here, perhaps
it might benecessary to reconsider--"

"You're here with Darnell."

Fraser blinked, glanced at the corner table, and then
turned back tohim. "And Diefenbaker. But surely that's a rather
simple deduction,Ray, given that--"

"Darnell is gay." Was he going to lose it, here? Was
he? Theuncertainty in and of itself was maybe the scariest
thing about it.

"You mentioned that before, Ray. I'm aware of that."

Ray took a deep breath. Cracked his knuckles. Two ways
to go here:Reasonable or whup-ass. In this neighborhood, whup-ass
wouldprobably charge up every freakazoid in a nine block
radius, andthere was the Darnell thing to consider; he'd probably
just love tobring his six-foot-six down and squash some Kowalski...

"Thought we talked about this. It's not smart, Fraser,
it's not asmart thing to do, hanging out with him."

Fraser shifted from one foot to the other, which usually
made himlook like he'd settled down, but not this time. This
time he justlooked off balance.

"I... enjoy his company," he finally said.

Christ. What did that mean? And did he really
want to know? No.No, he really didn't want to know. What would a guy
like Fraser seein a guy like... unless he... Oh, man, talk about
things he didnot want to know.

Maybe that wasn't it. Maybe Fraser was just... hanging
out. 'Cuz Raywas busy all the time. Maybe he just wanted somebody
who'd go at thedrop of a Stetson, somebody who wouldn't blow off
his stories.

Maybe Fraser was just... lonely.

Ray shook himself. Okay, okay. That was the one he'd
go with. Madesense, he could wrap his brain around that. Wasn't
like Fraser had aton of people in his life, and most of them were even
weirder thanhe was. He for sure knew how that felt, being lonely.
He missedStella. A lot. Like getting his right arm chopped
off, was how thatfelt sometimes.

He sniffed. "Look, Fraser," he said, leaning over so
he didn't haveto say it too loud. "I've been out of it, snowed under.
Sorry Ihaven't been around as much."

Fraser just blinked at him.

Okay, if at first you don't succeed, repeat yourself.

"I been just plowed with work, Welsh is like... he's
turned intothis slavedriver, all of a sudden. I'm... sorry."

Damn if Fraser didn't take that exact moment to look
over hisshoulder, smile at Darnell.

Smiled at the fucker. There he sat, in that crappy
place,apologizing to him, when Fraser was the one...
he was the one...

"Ray, your duty comes first, I understand that," Fraser
said.

No, he didn't understand. He didn't get it at all.

"What're you doing, Fraser?"

"I told you, Charlie thought this might be a good--"

"There is nothing good about this, Fraser."

Stalemate. Two guys at a bar, not looking, not talking.
Close enoughthat Ray could feel the heat coming off him, could
hear his leatherjacket squeak when he shifted again, shifting farther
away.

"Perhaps if you got to know him a little better," Fraser
said.

Ray smiled. It felt like a smile, but usually Fraser
didn't back upa step when he smiled at him.

Didn't look like friendship from here. Not in a place
like this, offin a corner, quiet, the kind of place people went
to...

"Doesn't matter what it is, Fraser. Matters what it
looks like."

"What does it look like?"

Nobody was that dense. Fraser had to be trying
to piss him off.Trying to push him away. In his own evasive, round-the-corner
way,Fraser was telling him to mind his own business. Which
probablymeant Fraser had some business of his own he was minding.

Which maybe, just possibly, awww Christ, probably meant...

The beer he'd drunk soured in his stomach. He pushed
himself up,closer to, then away from Fraser, clenching his teeth
against whathe wanted to say, but wouldn't, couldn't. Not without
risking...what? What was he risking?

He pictured day after day of paperwork, Huey and Dewey,
Welsh overhis shoulder, with no Fraser to break up the day,
no wolf moochingout of his snack drawer. Yeah, that was worth keeping
his mouth shutfor. What else could he say? He'd said it all already.
Dumb lugdidn't want to hear it. Or heard it and didn't care.

That much was pretty damn clear. Fraser didn't care.

His legs were numb when he stood, his fingers numb
when he fished inhis pockets for a few bills to throw on the bar, and
when he walkedhe felt like he was stumbling, but he knew he wasn't.

But inside, everything inside -- that wasn't numb.

That wasn't numb at all.

Just how lonely would a guy have to be to do... that?

That jaw-dropping night in the piss place turned out
to be anexample of a good day between them. They turned
sour, like themilk in his fridge when he didn't pay attention. They
stillpartnered up, still talked about cases, clues, hunches
and evidence,but everything felt tilted, off. Felt like they were
speaking twodifferent languages, more than it usually did; like
they could talkpolice work fine, but the minute it turned even halfway
personal,Fraser clammed right up.

He'd spent the past two hours crawling through the
paperwork, hypedup enough from the bust not to even mind doing it,
almost hypedenough not to notice that it wasn't his desk
Fraser was hangingaround while he did it.

A flash of red caught his eye as he finished the last
line of thelast page. He closed the folder with a thump of satisfaction
andsquinted up at Fraser. "Pizza or Chinese?" Taking
it for granted,assuming that things would go the way he needed them
to -- a trickto keep the desperation out of his voice. Learned,
but maybe toolate to do him any good.

At least he'd managed to make Fraser look uncomfortable.
"Well, yousee, Ray, I'm afraid... that is, as much as I appreciate
theinvitation, I've already made plans for the evening--"

He felt a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth,
and he let itstay there. "We just wrapped a case, Fraser."

"I'm aware of that, Ray."

"And after we wrap a case, we go out for dinner --
it's...tradition. If we don't do it we might be messing with
our streak,right?" Everything in him was cool and calm. Fraser
would hear this,would respond to it. He'd have to. But no. Fraser
was shaking hishead, his face tight with that puckered-up-lemon look
that he gotwhen he was about to disappoint somebody. So either
he didn't knowFraser as well as he thought he did, or Fraser just...
really didn'twant to be around him. Or just really wanted to be
around someoneelse more.

If he'd been hungry before, he wasn't anymore, not
when he heardthat tone in Fraser's voice, that one that wasn't
as apologetic asRay wanted it to be, that one that was pretty damn
determined: "I'msorry, Ray. Perhaps another time."

There was more to be said, he knew that. Maybe he didn't
know Fraseras well as he thought he did, but he knew enough to
keep thepressure on, to take away one option at a time until
Fraser had totalk to him. Tell him the truth.

Problem was, he thought he already knew what Fraser
had to say, andhe didn't want to hear it. He couldn't hang himself
out to dry likethat, couldn't put the both of them through it.

So, when Fraser nodded at him and gave him that fake
smile, andwalked away from his desk calling for Dief, he said
nothing. He justswallowed.

Tasting something bitter.

He hated kidnappings.

Especially kid kidnappings.

Give him a good old murder, bad blood, drug deal gone
wrong -- atleast everything was known, and the worst had already
happened, andall he had to make sure of was that the right person
went away forit. There wasn't this minute-to-minute pressure, there
weren't anypanicked, question-question-crying-question relatives
to deal with,there wasn't this dark, terrible, relentless kind
of hope that kepteverybody jittering and jiving on the edge until the
deal went downand you got (more often than not) a point-blank failure
on yourhands, shunting you right back to good old murder
territory.

And some sad, broken little body that he couldn't,
just couldn'tlook at.

So there he was at his desk, the third day in a row
of twenty-twohour shifts, still waiting for something to break
while his visionwent grainy and unreal, a picture of a smiling little
girl withbrown braids holding a brown mutt squeezed tight in
his left hand,pulling his eyes back to it every few seconds even
though he really,really didn't want to look at it anymore.

Ray closed his eyes -- just for a moment, just to let
the case rollthrough him one more time, fact after fact that should
piecetogether if he could only fit it all in, track down
that one thread,any one thing that he might have missed...

"Ray!"

He jerked up in his chair, ready in a split second
to say no, hewasn't sleeping, no way was he sleeping--

But it wasn't just Fraser. Fraser had gone to get him
a sandwich andhad been gone a long time, but here he was again with
no sandwich insight, nothing but his hat in his hands and Darnell
smiling fromover his shoulder.

Both of them smiling. Ray's jaw ached.

"Charlie and I were talking about the case on the way
to thelunchroom. When he interviewed Mr. Collins, there
was a receipt fora harbor berth on his desk, and when he mentioned
that, I rememberedthe traces of diesel fuel that were found at the abduction
site--"

This was... awfully tough to follow in his current
state; Frasergoing ninety miles a minute with his eyes lit up like
a pinballgame. Ray blinked and waved one hand, the one with
the picture init, and that bright, smiling face caught his eye,
and then heunderstood.

"She's on a boat." Certainty there, something he felt
all the waydown to the pit of his stomach.

"She's on a boat." Echoing him, confirming him. In
stereo. From bothFraser and Darnell.

"Let's go." Extra ammo, spare handcuffs, one arm in
his jacket, andthen he headed as fast as he could for the door, totally
wide-awakenow, totally focused on the job.

At least for now.

And for once, for once there was a happy ending all
around -- aterrified but unhurt little girl returned to her parents,
a cleanbust that was pretty much locked down tight for any
jury that wasn'tcompletely blind, and no shots fired on either side.
Less paperwork.

A happy ending for everybody. Except the kidnappers.
Right.

"Ray?"

"What?" Oh, he had to get some sleep soon -- the sun
was going downbehind him in a wash of pinkish light, and between
that and the redsuit Fraser looked like he was glowing, like someone
had builtthemselves a neon Mountie and installed it down in
the middle of thefunky wood shacks of the harbor. Crazy.

"I know you haven't eaten." Fraser sounded slightly
apologetic,which was stupid -- like he was going to blame Fraser
for forgettinghis sandwich when he'd solved the damn case? The reminder,
however,made his stomach growl as the case started to slip
away and his lifestarted to slip back; he hadn't eaten, no, not since...
well, notfor a long time.

"No." The word felt heavy with exhaustion as it dropped
from hislips, and everything seemed suddenly very clear, what
he had to do -- thank Fraser, and go with him to find at least five
pounds of foodand eat it, and then sleep for a week. Simple. He
could do that.That would be good.

"Charlie says there's a good Italian restaurant nearby.
Would youlike to join us?"

And he was so far, far out of it that nothing was happening
right,like it was time for him to blow up now and fill Fraser
in onexactly who his partner was, make it really clear
and spell it allout so that there wouldn't be any question about it,
so that therewouldn't be any mistakes. His hands twitched, curling
up, grabbingfor something but he didn't know what. His stomach
growled again, soempty, so very empty...

"I'm not hungry," was what he said. Just that. Fraser
looked at him,studied him, concerned and serious. When Fraser took
a step towardshim something tightened in all of his muscles, and
he was so tired,but not tired enough to do something stupid, so he
turned around andheaded for his car.

Where his traitor hands could wrap around nothing more
threateningthan a steering wheel, which he clung to all the way
home, holdingon, holding on, holding on tight.

It occurred to him as he was driving home that he should
havelearned by now that desperation was about the worst
enemy he couldhave. After all, he'd had lots of chances to pick
up on that. Tofigure it out. To take it on, somehow, to take it
inside him andmake it a learned thing, right up there with keep
your head low whenthe heat's on and don't back down when the other guy
is runningscared. A survival skill. Something automatic that
he did when therewas a threat to be dealt with.

He should have known better, is what it came down to.

He should have known better, after all these weeks
of Fraser beingthere and not there, with him but withdrawn. And there
was reallynothing to say so he'd just kept waiting for Fraser
to get over it,knowing that he was too quiet himself, knowing, and
not having asingle frigging clue what to do about it.

Well, he could've talked about it, he supposed, or
maybe screamed orsomething; punched something -- but every time he'd
thought he wasworking up to it he backed down, backed into himself,
into moresilence.

So much silence.

He knew that he was getting desperate, that somewhere
inside thingswere breaking down and wearing out -- damage, we got
damage here,with too much quiet outside and too much noise inside.
Too much.

Which now called for too much beer, since the numbing
he'd gottenthat other night had worked so good -- if a little
was good, a lothad to be better -- so instead of subjecting himself
to Fraser andDarnell and food that he'd probably puke up later
anyway, he had anendless evening of slow poison that he kept to his
apartment, sincehe didn't know what kind of hell he might trip himself
into if hewent out.

Way too much beer. He sat and scratched his
neck in anunsuccessful attempt to ease his dry throat, and drank,
and cravedcigarettes. About a thousand of them, one right after
the other.Something hard and harsh -- and that's what led him
to the bottle ofhard stuff he kept in the back of the cupboard for
extremeemergencies, and that's when everything started slipping
down andaway in some out-of-control funhouse mirror ripple.
He couldn't,couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't look. He could
get the glass tohis mouth without looking. That was enough.

A black, lost place, then, and then the next thing
was a door --familiar, and there was something about it that was
awful andexciting at the same time. The moment that the door
opened and hecaught a glimpse of Stella's face it crashed into
him, everythingterrible and threatening and the true distance between
how he livedand what he needed, and horribly, horribly he said
some of that,bleated it out while he sagged against Stella's doorjamb.
Said some,he didn't know how much. The word 'please' was in
there somewhere,he was dead sure of that-- more than once, even. For
a moment hethought about punching himself, just to see if it
would stop hismouth.

But he didn't, and whatever it was that he said, it
was either toomuch or not enough. Or just too late. Probably too
late. Stella waslate -- getting ready to go out, smooth and lotioned
and made up ina pretty peach camisole and robe that he remembered,
remembered howthe silk of it was nothing compared to her skin, remembered
how itslid-slithered off her, when the time was right. And
yes, heunderstood that she didn't have time for this, that
she was runninglate. She always was. But... she was always worth
waiting for. Heremembered that, too.

He could only hope that the prick of an attorney that
she wasgearing up for felt that way. That he knew what he
was getting ashot at.

And now, on the other end of another one of those weird,kaleidoscope blacknesses, there was a card in his
shaking hand andthe sound of his own breath much too loud in his ears
-- did he run?Was he running, now -- to or from? No way to tell.

He must have been clumsy with the card. Either that,
or he'd beenout here a lot longer than he thought, because all
of a sudden theConsulate door gave way and he was falling forward,
pitching forwardfor one dizzy second before Fraser caught him, scooped
him neatlyinside.

For lack of any better idea, he held on. "Fraserrrr..."
Fraser musthave been sleeping -- even through his clogged-up
sinuses he couldsmell that, something warm and concentrated and subtle
that told himthat Fraser had just dragged himself out of bed to
come prop up hisdrunk, sorry ass. That made his eyes sting, a last
bit of awfulnessjust to make the experience complete.

"Oh, dear." Ray could feel the vibration of the words
through thechest pressed against his own. It tingled. "Ray, you're
cold."

He couldn't argue with that, because the lingering
warmth of thealcohol had been iced out of him long ago, and now
his teeth werechattering and he was shivering and he realized that
he'd left hisapartment without a jacket and oh God what
the fuck had he said toStella?

"Stella," he croaked, and winced at the alcoholic longing
in his ownvoice.

"Um... no. It's me, Ray." Fraser seemed to be trying
to push himaway by the shoulders, and Ray had a sneaking suspicion
that Fraserwanted to look at his face so he held tighter, buried
his faceagainst a red thermal cotton-covered arm.

"I know it's you -- I know you're Fraser, Fraser. I
mean I went toStella, I talked to Stella, I told her..." Oh, and
he was going tobe saying it all over again, if he wasn't careful.
The room wasspinning, but Fraser was still holding him up and
it was very dark,or maybe he just had his eyes closed, but at least
it was dark forhim, so that seemed to make it okay.

And Fraser seemed to be dealing with all of this pretty
well,considering, so Ray took a deep breath and continued.
"Where've youbeen? You're never there anymore."

Fraser shifted him slightly, steadying him against
his shoulder."Ray, I've been at the station every day --"

"Not the work, me."

The muscles under his hands might have stiffened up
a bit at that,but he couldn't be completely sure he'd felt it. "I'm...
sorry,Ray."

Just the fact that there was no argument, no pissing
around aboutthe literal meaning of each and every word seemed
like a miracle,like some huge obstacle had just evaporated out of
his way likemagic. "Yeah. Me too, I guess."

Saying the words lifted some unsuspected weight off
him, and he waslight now but not so dizzy, not much of anything really
exceptclosed-eyed and comfortable in Fraser's arms. He heard
himself makesome kind of weird rumbling noise, but at least he
wasn't blurtingout a bunch of nonsense about how much he sucked,
so that was okay.

His stomach growled. Should probably have eaten something,
hethought distantly. Maybe gone to sleep instead of
wandering aroundthe city looking for lost people. Lost. Like the little
girl. Well,they'd found her. Who was lost? He didn't even know
anymore. He'dthought Stella, and Fraser for sure, but they weren't
the onessweating out whisky, or saying crazy stuff that shouldn't
ever comeoff the tip of a tongue. Maybe he was the only one
lost. Maybe itwas just him.

"Am I lost?" Well, fuck. If he wasn't before, he seemed
to be doinghis level best to get himself there. Lost and stupid
and crazyfucking drunk, fastened onto a Mountie in the foyer
of the CanadianConsulate -- This Is Your Life, Ray Kowalski...

Vecchio.

This Is Not Your Life.

"Ray," Fraser began-- but he didn't get to hear about
whether or notFraser thought he was lost because all of a sudden
everything closeddown around him at once, like some kind of disaster
that he'd beenfending off only now he couldn't fight anymore, because
it was tooheavy to carry. His hands curled into fists, clenched
tight intosoft cotton, feeling the solid heft of Fraser's chest
underneath;strength and stability that he needed and needed so
fucking
badly,and it had been denied to him--

"Fraser--" Fraser. Fraser was at the end of it, at
the beginning,and at every single point along the way. Even when
he wasn't there.

Not there. Unbelievable, the pain of that, the coldness.
Cold to hisbones, but Fraser was hot, and suddenly he had to
know if Fraserwould give him that heat when he needed it, he had
to know, andthe only way to find out was to just reach out and
take it.

Fraser's cheeks were warm enough to burn his icy hands.
He hissedand moved in closer, willing to burn, burning already
from a sparkof his own deep inside -- the fury of knowing what
he'd drivenhimself to; that he couldn't bear the thought of Fraser
keepinghimself to himself anymore, of Fraser keeping his
mouth tohimself...

... Or even worse, the thought that he might be keeping
himself forsomeone else...

His partner. Fraser was his partner.
His.

Hot, soft lips. Open to him. Open, with a miraculous
jolt that shutout everything except the terrible, pounding sweetness
of his heartin his mouth, everything except the unspoken mournful
noise thatflamed from his throat and then was burnt out, doused
by the tip ofFraser's tongue. Tears sprang to his eyes, escaped,
like everythingelse he desperately needed to keep, now slipping away
from him. Heshivered, disconnected and trembling. Wondered how
a kiss -- was ita kiss? this groping of his mouth to Fraser's? --
could make himfeel like he'd pierced a vital organ, like he was
bleeding.

And he expected, somehow, that Fraser would put a stop
to this.Fraser would have to. Fraser wouldn't let him, any
more than Fraserwould let him die gut-shot in some dirty back alley
-- a soothingthought, that Fraser would stop this, that Fraser
wouldn't let himdie alone--

Except Fraser didn't stop it. Fraser let him
do this, held him up,opened to him in a way that reached right down inside
and made amess of everything. Fraser let him, kissed him, tasted
him, and slidtheir tongues together with a deep sigh that knew
nothing about thefact that this was killing him, that he was killing
them, that hehad done something to bring them to the end of things,
to the truthof things, here.

"Ray," Fraser said against his newly wet, newly warm
lips. Such adark and unexpected word, spoken like that. Like pain.
Fraser,saying 'pain' in a language he wasn't supposed to
understand.

He pulled back without conscious thought. He almost
just kept going,right over backwards and onto the glaringly clean
floor of the foyer-- would have, if Fraser hadn't caught him by one
arm.

In the wordless, harsh-breathing dimness that followed,
Fraser'seyes looked unusually deep -- dangerously vulnerable
hollows that hewould have liked to trace just lightly with the tip
of one finger,if he could have trusted his own hands not to betray
him.

"It's not." His own voice didn't sound strong
enough, nowhere nearas strong as he needed it to be, but maybe he sounded
upset enoughto make up for it. He hoped.

And he thought that Fraser would probably argue with
him about it,but Fraser didn't. Warm, gentle hands propelled him,
and before heknew it he was sitting on one of the padded chairs
at the frontdesk, and Fraser was staring at him, an intense, serious
look thathe could only take for a second or two before he had
to looksomewhere else. Anywhere else. He swallowed.

Fraser cleared his throat. "I'll call you a cab."

He looked up in time to see Fraser fade into the shadows
and dimnessof the hallway, and maybe he could have said something,
maybe heshould have said something, but really it was
pretty clear thathe'd be better off if he just kept his mouth shut.

That seemed like the first good idea he'd had in a
long, long time,so he decided to go with it.

And he did. He kept his mouth shut when Fraser returned,
when Frasertold him that the cab would be there soon, while Fraser
waited withhim. He even managed to keep it shut when Fraser walked
him to thecab and said good-night to him-- calmly, as if everything
wasokay, as if Fraser really believed that. He
could have said... buthe didn't.

Ray sat, twisted queasily in the back seat of the cab,
and stared atFraser until darkness and distance left him nothing
more to look at.

Remember the Alamo? All those hearts buried at Wounded
Knee?Pickett's Charge? None of them got to be household
names by winning.In every war, somebody lost. Somebody won, too, and
that made itinto the history books more often, but every once
in a while, thelosers got a page for themselves.

Ray had raised the white flag after... well, what the
hell hadhappened? Fortunately, the exact details were a little
hazy, blurredby too much booze, too little sleep, too little food.
He didn'tsuppose they were blurry for Fraser, but every time
his mindwandered down that road, he yanked it back, hard.
Couldn't thinkabout Fraser, what he might say if Ray ever managed
to have a minutealone with him ever again in his whole life.

Hadn't happened yet. They were going on four days now,
would be fourdays exactly sometime around midnight, near as he
could tell. Fourdays ago, he'd found out just how lonely a guy'd have
to be to do...that. Well, something like that anyway. He'd
probably have donethat, too, if Fraser hadn't stopped him, propped
him up, calledhim a cab.

Fucking hell.

Nothing like finding out what your limits were. Or
that you didn'thave any.

He'd blown it. Blown it big time. Blown it to Kingdom
Come andbeyond, probably. And Fraser, what was up with him?
Fraser hadn'texactly helped snuff out the fuse. Ray vaguely understood
his owncrappy reasons, but what was Fraser's excuse? Rigor
mortis? Cat gothis tongue?

The whole thing -- half-remembered, half-suppressed
-- felt likesomething that had happened to somebody else. Some
other desperate,unhappy person with no sense whatsoever. No survival
skills.

Some other loser.

So he did the only sensible thing. The only thing he
could do whensomething was that badly blown, when the stakes were
high and thewalls were down and really, the option of moving to
someplace likeMadison and starting over -- without the Mountie,
without the crap -- was starting to sound like a damn good idea, well,
the only thingleft to do was follow one of those old adages, one
of those historybook things:

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Which was how he found himself on day five at an Italian
restaurant,sitting across the booth from Fraser. And Darnell.

Because the only thing worse than remembering what
he'd done toFraser was wondering what Darnell was doing to him.

Wondering. Picturing. Imagining. The whole thing was
driving himnuts. He was there, his insides still scabbed over
from the shock ofFraser's mouth on his own -- was it really as hot
as he remembered?as wet? -- and it was all he could do not to lean
across the table,see if Darnell had his hand on Fraser's thigh.

It took most of the meal for him to get himself to
eat more than abite of this, a taste of that. Across from him, Fraser
and Darnellate like the big meaty guys they were, tossing back
lasagne andgarlic bread like they had hollow legs to fill.

Maybe it was the food, the first real solid meal he'd
had in a long,long time. Maybe it was the relief of spending more
than fiveminutes in Fraser's company. Whatever, some things
started to comeinto focus. Like the fact that Darnell and Fraser
were two peas in apod. They talked about the same weird things, laughed
at the samestupid stuff. Ray had never seen Fraser laugh so much,
and he hatedthat Darnell could make him do that, make him laugh
so hard heturned red and wiped tears out of his eyes with the
corner of hisnapkin. Oh yeah, it was all pretty clear from here.

That wasn't the worst of it, though. No, the worst
of it was thefact that, damn his East Coast ass, Darnell seemed
like an okay guy.Funny, smart, and if you didn't know he was queer
as a three-dollarbill, well, you'd never know it to look at him, hear
him.

Except...

He did know. And so he could see. Little things, mostly.
The wayDarnell licked at his own lip to tell Fraser he'd
missed some sauce,staring at Fraser's mouth the same way he'd stared
at his plate whenit was brought to the table. The way he'd slid in
the booth besideFraser automatically, when everybody knew the guys
who were partnersshould have been seat-sharing, and the other guy should've
beenacross the way.

Darnell he could read like a book.

So maybe Fraser was right. Maybe there wasn't anything...
hell, whatVictorian word had he used? Improper, right. Maybe
there wasn'tanything improper going on. Yet. Wasn't because Darnell
was funnyand smart and not interested. Oh, no. Darnell was
interested; he wasjust biding his time, that was all. Darnell was plenty
interested.Every time Fraser laughed or even smiled at one of
his damn jokes,Darnell's eyes went wide with appreciation, sucking
it up --something Ray saw only through the narrowest squint
he could manage.

They split the bill, like always, and Ray and Darnell
hit the canwhile Fraser paid.

Okay, it was weird to whip it out in front of the guy.
Ray hadn'tever really been bladder shy, but he found himself
sheltering hisdick with his hand while he used the urinal, found
himself staringsteadfastly ahead, so Darnell wouldn't think... wouldn't
wonder...Well, he just wasn't going there.

But since it was the first chance they'd had to talk
alone, ever, hefigured he'd better use it. Use it or lose it, wasn't
that the wayit went?

So he shook himself off, tucked himself back in his
jeans, and wentto the row of sinks. He waited for Darnell to join
him, then caughthis eye in the mirror.

"I know what you're doing," he said. Something deep
inside hisstomach turned over, and he didn't think it was the
half a piece oflasagne.

Darnell raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"You think I was born yesterday? I know what you're
doing," herepeated.

He watched as Darnell deliberately soaped his hands,
rinsed, thenwiped them dry on a paper towel. Ray shook his own
hands twice, thenrubbed them on his pants.

Darnell didn't say anything, just walked around Ray
to the door andopened it, gesturing Ray to go ahead of him. As Ray
passed him, hesaid, "Wish I knew what you were doing."

Heat crawled up Ray's neck, spread to his face. He
allowed himselfhalf a glimpse at the grin on Darnell's face and muttered,
"Yeah,me, too."

The problem was, there was no way in hell to prepare
for this kindof thing. No amount of gearing up, setting his jaw,
or daydreamingabout worst-case scenarios was really worth a fart
in a high windwhen it came to dealing with... this kind of stuff.
The kind ofstuff he hated. The kind of stuff that made him feel
like maybe itmight be a good idea to whap his head against a wall
for an hour ortwo so that he'd have something else to think about
besides... thiskind of stuff.

This Fraser kind of stuff. This haven't-talked-about-dick,
but-here-we-are-stuck-in-the-car-together-on-stakeout,
so-what-the-fuck-do-I-do-now kind of stuff. There was no way
around it -- Darnellhad pulled the first shift, and he himself had second
shift, and itseemed a purely sure fact that it was a better idea
to sufferthrough eight uncomfortable, Fraser-filled hours in
the unmarkedthan it would have been to have spent the previous
eight hourswondering what kind of shenanigans Darnell could wheedle
Fraserinto.

If he hadn't called dibs on Fraser, Darnell would have.
And Darnell,of course, drove a van. A big, black, 'ain't-I-macho'
van. So therewas no way around it, no choice at all, really, when
he thoughtabout it. Like he'd been thinking about it. All day.

Ray shifted in the driver's seat for the third time
in ten minutes."Fraser, can you maybe stop that before I have to
beat your headagainst the dashboard?"

He felt Fraser's eyes on him, but never looked away
from the closedwarehouse door at the end of the alley where they
were parked. Atleast he had something he was supposed to be staring
at. "Stop what,Ray?"

"Stop that whatever the hell it is you're doing that's
making thatclicking noise."

There was a pause, and for the first time he wondered
if therereally could be an end to Fraser's patience. "I was
simply examiningmy cuticles, Ray."

Probably not. "That's great, Fraser -- God knows I
don't want you tohave to bust up a smuggling ring with your cuticles
looking lessthan prime -- but since Welsh said something to me
about a stakeoutand didn't mention anything about setting up a friggin'
manicureshop--"

From the corner of his eye he saw Fraser's lips press
together,wondered if maybe he should angle for one more jab.
But then itoccurred to him that they were still working through
the second hourof an eight-hour shift, and maybe he should save something
back forwhen he really needed it, like in case Fraser decided
to try to talkto him about... any of that stuff he didn't want to
talk about.

An hour later, he was almost ready to hope that Fraser
would tryto talk to him -- after he'd snapped at Fraser for
drumming hisfingers on his hat, pulling at stray threads on his
uniform, andbreathing too loudly, now it was a lot like sitting
in the car witha corpse -- somebody's stuffed and mounted Mountie,
which was kindafunny unless you had to be there, listening to the
silence andchecking out of the corner of your eye to make sure
that Fraser'schest was still moving.

For his own part, he couldn't seem to keep still --
it seemed likeevery few minutes he developed another weird itch
somewhere, or oneof his legs would go numb and then he'd shift and
have to sitthrough the pins-and-needles without saying anything
-- and for someweird reason he remembered his fifth-grade teacher,
Mrs. Crater,calling him 'ants-in-his-pants Kowalski' in front
of the whole classand how much he'd hated that, and how much he just
couldn't help it,just like he couldn't help it now.

"Fraser." He didn't know he meant to say anything,
but there waspressure inside him that just seemed to want to let
itself out inall kinds of bizarre ways.

"Yes, Ray."

Spur-of-the-moment quick, and he had to say something
or else looklike a total idiot--

"Your wolf is licking his balls in my backseat again."

Lame, Kowalski, very lame. Way to go. Way to avoid
looking like anidiot--

"Ray." That was testy. That was beyond testy.
All of a sudden hisheart sped up -- apparently there were limits to Fraser's
patience,and it looked like he'd just found them. "What is
wrong with you?"

"Yes, you, Ray; I'm asking what's wrong with
you. If you didn'twant me to accompany you, it would have been very
simple to--"

"To what?" Their voices in the closed car seemed
painfully loudafter the long silence, but he couldn't help it. "To
hand you overto Darnell so he could paw all over you in that 'if-the-van's-a-rockin'-don't-come-knockin' ride he's got?"

Oh, that was much more than he'd meant to say, that
hadn't been whathe'd meant to say at all, but it felt like
there was steam comingout of his ears, here, and there must have been a
part of him thatwanted to do this, that wanted to send everything
to hell...

The sun had gone down about an hour before, but there
was stillenough light to see the traces of red in Fraser's
cheeks. Everyother sign of anger had vanished, however, and now
Fraser justlooked... curious. Like he was trying to figure something
out. Itmade Ray's stomach flutter like crazy, and it took
all his willpowernot to press his hands there to make it stop.

"Ray, you sound... jealous." Fraser didn't sound testy
anymore.

That was okay -- he himself was plenty testy enough
for both ofthem.

"Are you out of your mind?" He shifted sideways, facing
Fraser, withhis shoulders hard against the car door, something
firm at his back,something solid that he could count on, and crooked
one leg up onthe seat. The move twisted him all up, but even that
just seemedlike how things should be, everything twisted, nothing
comfortable."I'm trying to help you out, trying to keep you from
eight hours ofhaving some musclebound guy practice his body cavity
searchtechniques on you, and you think I'm jealous?
That's nuts,Fraser."

He felt filled, brimming right up to the top with the
kind of angerthat could get out of hand if he wasn't careful, if
he didn't watchhis mouth. He should stop. Just stop now, and shut
up, and shutFraser up double-quick if he said another goddamn
word. Pop him one,that'd shut him up, or he could... no, no, he couldn't
even thinkit. He should just stop. Now. A friendly piece of
advice there fromwhoever was running the internal pressure-cooker...
but the dark,tight feeling deep in his gut told him that it was
already too late,much too late.

"Yeah? Well, you got your beliefs and I got mine, but
here's somelate-breaking news for you: there's no Santa Claus,
Elvis is reallydead, and I am not jealous of friggin' Charlie
Darnell."

Fraser was still staring at him like he was the most
fascinatingthing since the wrong kind of mud at a crime scene.
Ray dug hisfingers in hard -- one hand into the leather back
of the seat, theother hand into his denim-covered knee, braced and
sure and certainthat he could deal with this, that he wasn't about
to do anythingstupid. More stupid.

"Perhaps not," Fraser said abruptly, and then it was
almost likefreefall, like pushing against something harder and
harder andharder that suddenly gave, spinning out weightless
and wonderingwhat to do with all that excess energy until Fraser
continued:"Perhaps you're simply afraid."

Ray's stomach clenched painfully with one final, jarring
cramp, andhis throat slammed shut so quickly that he had to
swallow to avoidchoking. He slouched low against the door, tense and
trapped in hisbody again -- freefall over, kiddies, everybody out.
He wondered fora moment how he managed to get himself into messes
like this -- howhe could start out knowing exactly where he
didn't want to go, andthen go there anyway like someone had given him a
frigging map. Likehe had some kind of homing instinct for disaster.

"Like hell," he managed, but it was hard to talk past
the tightnessin his throat, hard to find words that didn't have
to stay locked inthe grim, pounding space between his temples.

And the only thing that could be worse than Fraser
looking curiouswas Fraser looking understanding, like he had a grip
on the wholepicture and wasn't assigning blame anywhere. The way
he was lookingnow. "There's no need to be ashamed of feeling fear,
Ray; it's aperfectly natural response to--"

"I'm really hating you right now, Fraser," he felt
himself movingand panicked but he just couldn't stop it -- he was
uncoiling,coming out of his crouch like a snake who just caught
sight of atasty leg. "This is one of those times when I just
really, reallyhate you."

Words weren't enough; it wasn't enough to spit it out
and get itover with. Saying it wasn't enough, so he reached
out and got ahandful of Fraser's short, thick hair, sinking his
fingers in andpulling while he leaned forward himself so he could
meet Fraserhalfway and show him what was what, prove that
he wasn't afraid,prove that he must hate Fraser because he certainly
didn't haveFraser's best interests at heart, or else he wouldn't
be doing...this.

He licked his way into Fraser's mouth like he owned
the place, andFraser's hair tugged at his fingers -- he thought
maybe Fraser wastrying to pull away, and he was about to go for a
better grip, butno. Fraser was just tilting, Fraser was going for
a deeper, closerangle; Fraser was letting him, just like he let him
before, andGod that burned his ass so bad because Fraser
shouldn't, shouldn'tbe doing this, neither of them should, they should
not be sittinghere on stakeout with their tongues tangled together
like a coupleof kids fucked up on beer and hormones.

No beer, not this time. He didn't even have that pathetic
excuse. Nobeer, but plenty of hormones because the deeper he
got into Fraser'swet mouth the more he wanted to just stay there, the
more he lostcontrol of his body until he was practically squirming
on the seat,his hips and his hard-on pushing up into nothing but
air.

From far away, he heard Fraser pull in a deep, deep
breath throughhis nose. Some instinct told him that it wasn't because
Fraser washalf-stifled with his tongue but because Fraser was
smelling it onhim, smelling the truth coming out of his pores like
sweat. And hethought that might be enough, that maybe he'd proved
his point, sofinally he let go, let Fraser have his hair back and
his air backand his smooth, warm mouth back and then he crammed
himself againstthe door again and tried to pretend that he wasn't
shaking.

Fraser was shaking. Ray really couldn't blame
him -- must be scaryas hell, almost getting eaten alive by your partner.
Fraser wasshaking and wide-eyed and looked a hell of a lot less
certain aboutthe world, which was just fine and dandy. Which was,
in fact, justabout--

"It's all right, it's okay," Fraser said softly, and
right away thebottom dropped out of his stomach, because he'd practicallyexcavated Fraser's tonsils and here Fraser was telling
him that itwas okay, like what he'd just done was... okay.
Telling him? Orhimself? Did it matter?

"It's not." God, hadn't they been through this
before? Differentchorus, same song, but none of it was okay. He knew
that, knew itin an all-the-way down, rock-bottom sure kind of way,
but apparentlyFraser didn't. And that meant that they weren't done
yet. His breathcaught and he held himself still, because if he let
himself move hewas going to curl up around the hot throb of want
that was his dickunder the influence of thinking about not being done
with Fraseryet.

Ray took a breath, and forced himself to stretch out
instead, reachout. His hand moved all on its own and got involved
with Fraser'shair again, but this time he stayed where he was and
brought Fraserto him, pulling back until he was caught between the
cold weight ofthe door and the hot weight of Fraser.

"Not okay," he whispered against Fraser's still-moist
lips, and hedidn't think Fraser heard him at all until the sound
of softbreathing was cut across with the loud, purring sound
his zippermade as he yanked it down, and then he gasped in relief
and Frasergasped in something else and Fraser still didn't
pull away,still didn't get it.

Fierce fumbling through his briefs and then he had
himself in handand had to moan, and he couldn't give up Fraser's
lips so that'swhere he moaned into and Fraser shivered, sighing
back at him, justa sound, nothing that sounded like 'stop', so he just
licked a wettrail along Fraser's bottom lip, and whispered: "Suck
me. Slow."

Movement, something silent but it seemed to have some
weird kind ofharmony anyway -- the way Fraser's head went down
while his owntilted back, point and counterpoint, and he felt everything,
throat,chest, and hard, aching cock, stretch out and reach
up and get deepinto it, deep into Fraser, and it turned out that
he didn't needthat hand on the back of Fraser's head for anything
at all, becauseFraser had it covered.

He kept his other hand fisted tight around the base
of his dick, andwhen he felt Fraser's soft lips slide over his fingers
there hejerked and grunted and stiffened up so he wouldn't
just shovehimself deeper and make it happen -- not yet, not
quite yet, he hadto stop, Fraser had to stop, Fraser should
stop this, Fraser...Fraser...

"Fraser..." He meant to say 'stop'. He did. He'd had
enough. Enoughof this wet, deep, tight; enough of the soft curve
of Fraser's necksweet under his hand; enough of moaning like his heart
was breakingwhile Fraser moved on him, teaching him a new meaning
for the word'slow'.

"God --" he was talking to the roof, felt like he could
talk to theroof all night. Maybe even get past this one-word
crap and reallyopen up about it, tell the roof about how it wasn't
supposed to bethis way, and how he never knew what the hell he was
doing anymore,how he was trying not to scream right now with how
good it was andabout how he was so... fucking... sorry...

"Sorry --" One too many times; one too many strokes
where Fraserwent way down and did that weird swallowing thing
that pulledsomewhere deep in him every time it happened, and
he wanted to tellthe roof there was no way this was Fraser's
first time, no way youcould learn to do that on the job. On the job. Awww,
fuck, roof,yeah, he was getting a job all right. Didn't know
a job like thiswas out there with his name on it. Didn't know, didn't
know, Christ,he'd had no idea.

One last hot-sweet-wet glide into Fraser's mouth and
then he didscream -- strangled and choked off and stifled against
the back ofhis own hand, yes, but still -- it was a yell, a racket.
Bad enough.Bad enough to let him know that he'd never had a more
shamefulmoment in his life than right now; thrashing all over
the place andhanging onto Fraser's head and bucking up and in and
coming likenobody'd ever touched him in his whole miserable life.
Until now.Until...

"Fraser." At least it wasn't a scream. All he could
see was blackand all he could feel was a hot pulse of pleasure
through his wholebody, but the screaming part seemed to be over and
the good afterhey-maybe-it-is-okay crazy euphoria part took
over. Thank God.

He heard Fraser sigh, felt Fraser shaking. When he
could stand it hetugged Fraser's head up from his lap, up from something
unimaginablethat his mind seemed to be trying to both memorize
and erase. Partof him knew that it was time for the guilt and regret
to set in now,time to let this terrible thing that he'd done slide
into the past,and start paying for it--

But he wasn't done. He pulled Fraser straight from
his lap to hismouth, straight into another kiss -- a whole different
thing thanwhat had gone on before, because he still couldn't
stop himself butnow he wasn't angry anymore, now he was just burning
with deep,grateful pleasure. And that wasn't right, that wasn't
what this wassupposed to be about, not at all. But the wrongness
of it didn'tmatter, he already had their mouths sealed together
and was goingfor it, gentle and blissed out and fiercely glad in
a way he knewhe'd cringe over later.

And for the first time Fraser did more than just let
him -- Fraseranswered his gladness with gladness, and spoke that
to him just assurely as if he'd used words to do it. He felt Fraser
wanting, andhe didn't, couldn't understand it, but right now it
just was what itwas -- it was Fraser needing something that he could
give. Before heknew it his hand was tight on a hard, hot length under
scratchyfabric, and he told Fraser to come, he said it out
loud but muffledaround Fraser's tongue in his mouth, and Fraser stiffened
andgroaned just like that, like that was all he'd
been waiting for,like that was all he'd needed. Which was a fucking
mindblower.

"Fuck." Straight into the stratosphere. There was no
way to followwhere he'd come from to where he was, no way on heaven
or earth toexplain how he'd managed to get here. He'd been angry,
he knew thatmuch. Angry at himself and angry at Fraser -- Fraser,
who alternatedbetween normal, predictable Fraser and this
Fraser, this melting-into-him, panting-and-flushed Fraser... Who turned
from one to theother faster than he could keep up.

"Yeah," Fraser breathed in his ear, enough of a shock
to send himbolt upright in his seat. That was just too much.
He pulled back.Pulled away. Fastened his clothes just as quick as
he could,fighting off a sudden wave of panic until he was all
zipped upagain.

Ray faced forward, wincing when he realized that he'd
have to turnon the defroster because they'd steamed the car up
good. That was noway to spot... what? Who were they out here for again?

He heard Fraser shifting around, and out of the corner
of his eye hecaught that clean, white handkerchief that Fraser
always had on him,prepared for anything, and part of him wondered how
Fraser couldhave possibly been prepared for this...

--Smuggling. Smugglers. They were on the lookout for
evidence ofsuspicious activities. At that warehouse. Where he
was looking now.Ray ignored the foggy view and found the defroster
by feel, staringat the warehouse door for all he was worth while Fraser
poked thatclean white handkerchief down his uniform pants, swabbed
around alittle, then folded it up and put it in his pocket,
like he alwaysdid that, came in his pants on a stakeout.

Fraser didn't say much. Okay, he didn't say anything.
Which was kindof amazing, considering they had to sit there for
another six hoursin a car that smelled like come, in a car with windows
that neverdid completely defrost, like they figured why bother
when who knewwhen one of occupants would pounce on the other one
again.

Six hours in a car with steamed-up windows, ping-ponging
betweendisbelief and giddiness and the occasional flare of
gut-clenchingtemper. At least he was. He had no idea how
Fraser felt. Fraser'dmanaged to pull himself together pretty good, surprise
surprise --which told him more about Fraser than he'd ever wanted
to know --but Ray still felt like he'd had most of his common
sense and hisentire self-image sucked out through his dick.

And he wasn't at all sure he'd proved his point.

Hell, he couldn't even remember what the point was.

Desk duty had its advantages. If he bent far enough
over a folder,and kept a pen in his hand, nobody bugged him. Pretty
neat trick,huh. Even Frannie left him alone.

Two weeks since the stakeout. The makeout. The blow...
out. Twoweeks of doing his level best to pretend nothing had
happened, thathe hadn't done as bad (or worse) by Fraser as Darnell
would've done,if Ray'd let him have his way. At least Darnell probably
wouldn'thave... in the front seat... on duty...

Jesus, what had he done?

The fact of it, the hugeness of it came over
him for a moment, andhe shivered. Unreal. It had felt unreal right afterwards
and itstill felt that way now, and when it didn't he found
himself wishingit did -- because it was too real, too reach-right-down-in-therereal for him to deal with. All it ever did was make
him cringe; allit ever did was put him on edge and make him feel
turned on and sickto his stomach and hungry all at once.

Made him want to hide somewhere.

Made him want to find Fraser, pronto, and... what?
What the hellcould he do, anyway, except make things worse?

He'd had his chance to set things right, and instead
he'd steeredthem wrong. Even worse, worse than doing it, worse
than makingFraser do it, was the certainty, down in a dark, empty
place hedidn't want to see, that he'd do it again. That he'd
do more thanthat, if Fraser'd let him. That he wanted more, when
less would havebeen the smart move.

Somehow, in trying to kill the loneliness, Ray had
just managed tofeed it, until it grew and spread and threatened to
choke him.Threatened him. Now, any cop can tell you what happens
to a guy whofeels threatened. He either pushes or he folds. Ray'd
never beenmuch of one for folding.

So maybe the sad truth was that it wasn't Darnell
Fraser needed toworry about.

Kind of amazing, really, that afterwards life continued
as always,as if his world hadn't been turned on its side, tucked
up against acar door and blown into a new dimension.

Pretending wasn't perfect, but it was better than dwelling
on stuffhe couldn't talk about, or even think about in whole
sentences mostof the time.

Nothing constructive had come of the stakeout -- not
outside thecar, and for sure not inside the car. And so life,
well, life justwent on. The bad guys didn't care much whether Ray
Kowalski had hishead up his ass, or whether Charlie Darnell was sniffing
around theMountie, so getting things back to even, if not back
to normal,seemed like a good thing to go for.

So Ray tried. He really tried, and, for the most part,
thought hesucceeded pretty well.

If their duet ended up being a trio more often than
not, well, thatdidn't seem to be the hurdle it once was. Nobody's
gonna thinkanything nasty about three cops heading out for something
to eat, orcatching a movie, or going midnight bowling. No, it
was the couplething he'd worried about. This was just some guys
going out, right?

Right.

One good thing about it was that he got to keep an
eye on Darnell.No harm in that, was there? He'd seen the way Darnell
watched Fraserwhen he thought nobody was looking --like the way
Dief looked at aTwinkie. Fraser needed a keeper and there he was,
a good Ray-sizedone, fully charged and ready to serve. And Fraser
seemed okay withhim coming along. Seemed kind of happy about it, like
he likedthings being more like the way they had been.

Yeah, it was good. Long as he managed to pretend he
hadn't... longas he didn't think about... as long as he kept it
all on the surface-- work, food, fun -- it was all right.

He tried to forget that Fraser had said it was all
right the otherway, too. Both times they'd... the first thing Fraser'd
saidafterward was that it was all right. Gave the go-ahead,
but afterthe fact. Permission granted, retroactive.

Backwards, just like every other freaking thing in
his life at themoment.

Permission. For what? To screw up the last good thing
he had going?God, he could hear himself now, telling Fraser in
that rathole thatthere was nothing good about this. Nothing good. Nothing
good aboutFraser and Darnell, and for sure nothing good about
Fraser andhim.

Ray dropped his head the last few inches down onto
his desk, feelingthe cool paper of some report or other against his
hot forehead.

There was no him and Fraser. Not like that.
Cuz even if Fraserwas... and it was starting to look like yeah, maybe
he was... Raycertainly wasn't. No way. Nuh-uh. Didn't know where
the thoughtskept coming from. He'd used Fraser. Used his
mouth like it was hisown hand, in the dark, under the covers, doing it
like he liked.He'd been mad, crazy mad, jumping out of his skin
crazy and he'dfinally pushed Fraser over his edge, too, and
God, it had feltgood, but it wasn't good.

Couldn't be.

Even if, way down deep, something in him whispered
that he wanted itto be.

He'd looked in the rearview mirror, once, afterward,
and been soshocked by what he'd seen he'd barely looked since.
He'd taken up anelectric razor to avoid watching himself shave. He
tilted the carmirrors so all he got was open road, no shock of blue
gray eyes,nobody there to mock him, tell him he sucked, what
kind of friendwas that, what kind of partner, to do that?

Fraser made it easy on him. Talked cool to him, didn't
provoke him,didn't bug him. Or maybe he just didn't let himself
be bugged. Couldbe that. Took two to tango -- always had. If Ray could
keep a lid onit, Fraser could, too. Fraser took his cues from him,
he knew that.Always had. Fraser... responded... to him.

And off his brain went again, would probably have played
the wholedamn thing over again in his mind if his ears hadn't
caughtsomething, if his Fraser radar hadn't gone off, poking
him, tellinghim to pay attention. He raised his head.

There, by Darnell's desk. Fraser, bent at the waist,
leaning withhis hands on the desk, Darnell looking up at him,
not smiling. Raysquinted, reached for his glasses. Whoa. Somebody's
dog die?

He saw Fraser glance around the squad room, his gaze
sliding overRay, then returning briefly before he dipped his head
toward Darnellagain.

" --talk about this someplace more private?" Ray heard
Fraser say,then a phone rang somewhere and Darnell's reply was
drowned out.Then they were up, headed out, Darnell walking ahead
of Fraser alittle bit, so tall he made Fraser look small.

He should probably let them have their talk in private.
A man had aright to a private conversation, didn't he? Sure he
did.

Wasn't gonna happen. Not on his watch. And since his
watch seemed tobe pretty much all the time, it didn't take him a
minute to re-filethe folder, grab a jacket and do that tracking thing,
down the hall,outside, following an instinct that said Fraser'd
never talk aboutanything even remotely personal in the building.

Bingo.

He spotted them at the edge of the park, sitting on
the low wallnear the pond. Something about it made his heart pound
high and fastin his chest -- maybe it was seeing them sitting like
that, or maybethe fact that he was following along, thinking there
was no way hewas really gonna do this, but yeah, doing it anyway.
He swallowed,and tried to remind his jumping nerves that he wasn't
sneaking up ona couple of bad guys here, but just two guys, two
other cops, tryingto have a little talk.

He saw that they both had hot dogs in their hands,
but he would havebet his next paycheck Fraser wouldn't eat his. Cover,
that's what itwas. Two guys eating lunch. That was all. Abruptly
he wondered ifthat had been Fraser's idea. If it had been, then
maybe Fraserreally had learned something about keeping
up appearances. Rayshrugged it off, trying not to think about whether
that was a goodthing or a bad thing.

Had to love the urban planners and their thing for
shrubbery. Thoselittle bushy beauties let him get close enough to
hear, withoutbeing close enough to be seen. He moved easily, quietly,
so quietlythat he didn't think even Fraser would hear anything.
He was so intoit, into finding a good spot and a comfortable position
and a casualstance, that it wasn't until he tuned in and started
actuallylistening that it occurred to him that maybe, or even
make thatprobably, he might not want to hear what they had
to say.

" --been as patient as I can, Ben," Darnell said.

"And I appreciate that, Charlie, more than I can say,"
Fraser said.

Hearing that, having it out in the open like that --
Darnell,copping to the fact that he'd been angling for Fraser's
Twinkie, andFraser, implying that it hadn't happened yet -- it
was a relief anda shock at the same time. Ray took a deep, quiet breath
that seemedto uncurl a thread of tension that had been twisting
in his stomach,a tension he hadn't really noticed until it wasn't
there anymore.

He squinted up at the sky like he was checking out
the weather,careful to keep his head tilted at the best listening
angle. It wasweird not to be able to see them, but he had to keep
an eye out.Didn't want anybody thinking he was some weirdo, creeping
around inthe bushes. Made him wish he'd thought ahead enough
to get his ownhot dog.

"I mean, it's like I'm in high school, dating the Homecoming
King.You let me this close and no closer," Darnell said.

Ray could hear the frustration in Darnell's voice.
More than hearit, he recognized it, had heard it in his own voice
more times thanhe could count. Yeah, Fraser could tie you up in a
knot faster thanyou could say "Mounties always get their man."

Silence for a minute. Damn, he wished he could see
Fraser's face. Hewas pretty good at getting stuff from his expression;
had to besince Fraser didn't always spit up everything when
he should.

"Charlie, I enjoy your company... "

God, that line again. C'mon, Fraser, get some new material.
But hefound himself smiling anyway -- an uncomfortably smug-feeling,
butirresistible smile -- already knowing, already buzzing
in his hard-to-keep-still body because that was Fraser's 'I'm-gonna-be-real-polite-while-I-ruin-your-life' tone, Fraser's regretful
tone. Toobad, Charlie, no Twinkie for you--

"... but I'm not interested in pursuing a deeper relationship,"
hecontinued.

Ray's smile widened, and his face felt hot. Got it
in one.

"It doesn't have to be a relationship, Ben.
Why can't we just...you know, have a good time? Why's it got to be complicated?"
Darnellpressed. Ray's smile slipped away as if it had never
been there, andhis muscles twitched -- an automatic urge to push
his way past thescreen of shrubbery, and maybe get in Darnell's smooth-talking
faceand ask him just who in the hell he thought he was
pushing, here,because Fraser said no already, he said no--

More silence. Ray didn't blame Darnell for not responding
to that --just those few quiet words had stopped him cold, too.
He shifted toa more comfortable crouch, hoping they weren't going
to turn thisthing into a soap opera -- his knees couldn't take
it. He supposedhe should go -- he'd heard what he needed to hear,
after all.

"That's it? You won't even think about it?" Darnell
said, and Rayalmost felt sorry for him. Almost. He knew how hard
it was forFrancesca to work with Fraser, feeling like she did,
and there hadto be others who felt like that -- Fraser seemed to
collect them,whether he wanted to or not. And now Charlie would
feel that way,too.

This close but no closer.

Funny, that wasn't how he felt. Too close was
more like it. Toodamn close.

"I am sorry," Fraser said, and damn if he didn't
sound like hewas.

Yeah, sorry, Charlie.

Something seemed to sink in -- past the relief part,
now, this wasmore like certainty, and Ray clamped down on the sudden
shot ofadrenaline that streaked through him, that made him
want to jump outof the bushes and say, "HA! How 'bout them
apples?"

A crazy thing to do, sure, but he couldn't help feeling
it --automatic, and powerful enough to feel like a kick
to the chest,busting-out-full of something and needing to
share the high. Hekept himself still. It was a backlash, that was all.
It was justbecause he'd been freaked for so long about what might
happen ifDarnell ever got it in gear and went for it.

The silence went on long enough this time that he had
to peek. Theywere gone. Ray gave it another minute, then unraveled
his crouch andwent to sit on a bench, resting his knees and giving
his brain asecond to get with the program.

Fraser'd turned Darnell down. Got the offer, thought
about it, andturned the fucker down. Turned him down flat, none
of that hemmingand hawing stuff he usually did when the conversation
turnedpersonal.

And there'd been none of that "it's all right" stuff
for CharlieDarnell. Nope, he hadn't heard a word about that.

Ray pulled in a deep breath and let the last of the
adrenaline easeout of him, leaving him jumpy and a little stiff.
Fraser... had donewhat he'd done.

Now all Ray had to do was decide whether or not he
wanted to thinkabout why.

Kind of a cake decision, as it turned out. Yeah, he
wanted to thinkabout why, and it was a damn good thing, because he
didn't manage tothink about much of anything else for the next three
days. Thoughtabout it all the time, actually, mostly in the back
of his mindunless he was home and in bed with all the lights
out, which waswhen the whole situation wasn't in the back of his
mind at all. Itwas inside him, settled low in his gut, riding him.

That was when the highs and lows, the tension and fear
and want andrush and heat of it was right in him, filling
him up, tearing himapart little by little and leading him in circles
of thoughts,cycles of feeling, that made him wonder if he might
not be going alittle bit nuts. A little more nuts.

After all, Fraser hadn't said a single thing about
why. Hadn't toldDarnell that sorry, Mr. America-types just didn't
turn his crank,hadn't said anything about maybe saving his Twinkie
for somebodyelse. All he'd said was 'sorry'. And that he didn't
do casual sex--

Which, when he thought about it, made him wonder about
the wholeconversation, whether he'd heard what he thought he'd
heard, whetherhe'd really been there to hear it, because that was
an out-and-outlie. Fraser did do casual sex. Fraser
had blown him in the frontseat of his car, on a stakeout -- and sex didn't get
much morecasual than that.

...Or much hotter than that. At least, not in his experience.
But...as for Fraser's experience, he didn't have a clue
-- not very longago, he wouldn't have put down a penny on Fraser having
much ofany experience. Of course, he wouldn't have
figured Fraser forqueer, either, and look where that got him. Maybe
Fraser did thatkind of thing all the time. But wait, he'd said he
didn't do thatkind of thing. But he did. Or he had. Ray'd been there
for it, Rayremembered it well, could give a play-by-play if Fraser
needed hismemory jogged. Maybe if Ray went ahead and asked Fraser
about it, itwould be one of those over-and-done-with, water under
the culvertthings. For Fraser at least.

But it didn't seem very likely, didn't seem very much
like theFraser he knew -- but hey, none of this did, so what
the hell?

Which brought him right back to a counting-up of the
known facts:Fraser'd said no to Darnell. Fraser hadn't said no
to him.

And that still seemed wrong -- that Fraser would let
him pull thatshit, and just keep not saying no. Like somehow his
no-sayer wasbroken when it came to Ray.

Hard on the heels of that thought there was always
a question --always the same question -- and every time Ray's mind
wandered downthat particular path it was like his thoughts floated
up and out andbeyond any hope of his control. His face got hot and
his bodytingled, and it didn't seem to matter what he happened
to be doingat the time -- making coffee, getting bawled out by
Welsh, watchingthe Cubs get their asses kicked -- whatever he was
doing would godim and faraway, and by the time he pulled himself
back in line he'dhave a great, big, embarrassing boner to deal with.

What else wouldn't Fraser say no to?

Of course, it wasn't the question that was fucking
with him so muchas it was the answer -- maybe nothing. There probably
wasn't asingle, goddamn thing that Ray could think of (and
he did think ofit, he thought of a lot of things; didn't really want
to and didn'tthink it was a good idea but he did it anyway) that
would actuallymake Fraser say no.

That was really the worst of it -- the idea that maybe
Fraserwouldn't say no. It chewed at him, rubbed against
him, got him allmessed up and excited and terrified all at the same
time: Fraserwouldn't say no, Ray knew he wouldn't, he knew it,
and God itwould be so much easier, so much simpler if he would.
Just 'no', andRay could back off, back away, no problems and with
his conscienceclear.

Then he could still be him, or the him he was pretending
to beanyway, the one who'd been pretty happy just having
Fraser for apartner, having somebody to eat with, somebody to
bounce ideas offof. Now that the Darnell thing was back-burnered,
they could, maybe,if they wanted to, go back to the way things had been
before.

Before.

Yeah, before a whole bunch of fences got jumped.

So he wished, often, sometimes he dreamed, that
Fraser said no tohim.

Just as much as he wished and dreamed that Fraser said
yes.

And he thought, late at night, in the safety and solitude
of hisbed, about what he could do, if he dared, with Fraser's
yes.

What he could do...

So he put into practice what he'd learned from Fraser,
and did that'there, but not there' thing. Worked the cases, went
to dinner inthat cozy little threesome they'd built, and did his
level best notto stand within five feet of Fraser.

How to chill, Fraser-style. Hey, he'd learned from
a master. How tomake it look good, so Welsh didn't notice, or Frannie,
so it lookedlike business as usual.

Wasn't, though.

Not even close.

Hadn't been for a long, long time. And if he let the
bizarre fuckinside his head go the way it wanted to, he'd be throwing
it allaway. Was pretty close to thrown as it was and one
more move, onemore wrong step, one more time getting his hands on
Fraser'scuriously receptive body would be the limit, the end,
the wall.

Once more, just once, and the partnership would go
splat, bye-bye,th-th-th-that's all folks. Ruptured. Severed.

Nothing could withstand that kind of torture and survive.
Nothing.

And as much as he seemed to... want... he didn't
want that.

So he stayed close but steered clear of anything that
might put themtogether in the same place for more than fifteen minutes
at a time.He found himself using Darnell as a buffer, inviting
him along ontrips that really didn't need two CPD detectives.

Ironic, huh. After all the trials and tribulations
about Fraser andDarnell, and what it looked like versus what it was,
now he was theone making the overtures about the Greek restaurants,
keepingDarnell in the middle, keeping it all on the level,
on the up andup, giving himself some critical distance.

Because he didn't trust Fraser not to give him what
he wanted.

And he didn't trust himself not to ask for it.

As it turned out, all of that was just a head-trip,
all of it was...whosiewhatsie... academic. An academic thing. Right.
Too bad hehadn't taken time to get out of his head long enough
to wonder whatFraser thought about it all. Might have been
a good question toask at some point along the way. One more thing to
add to the listof "Ways Ray Fucked Up."

Because right about the time he'd decided he might
just explode outof his skin from chilling out and holding back and
trying to do TheRight Thing, and he'd scoured his own brain about
it so much that hefelt like he'd scrubbed off some stuff he might need
later,opportunity knocked on his door.

Actually, it was Fraser who knocked on his door. The
opportunitypart of it was because, for once, it was Fraser all
by himself,without the usual additions of Dief-and-Darnell. Just
Fraser, askinghim if he had plans, if he wanted to get some dinner.

Like he used to. Like they hadn't just spent some crazy
monthsavoiding each other, then colliding at regular intervals,
ruiningeverything, trying to ruin it.

And yeah, he knew it was just stupid but he couldn't
help it --right away he got nervous about that. It made his
mouth dry up andhis palms go moist and itchy, and even though he felt
nervous aboutit he was kinda... glad about it too -- even
more stupid -- but hecouldn't help it. Couldn't help any of it.

"Just you and me, huh?" He had a horrible suspicion
that he might beblushing, because his face felt awfully hot. But at
least there wasthe relief of knowing that, if he was, Fraser didn't
appear to havenoticed.

"If that's all right." In the mellow light of the hallway
Fraserlooked impossibly... precise, clean and calm and orderly,
andimmediately Ray was swamped with the desire to get
in his face, totell Fraser point-blank 'you sucked my dick',
just to see whatwould happen.

And there was something else, too, something less of
defiance andmore of compulsion: the urge to reach out and mess
up what he could,the urge to make Fraser sweat, to get him dirty, to
sticky him upand slick him over and move him so far past clean
and calm andorderly that a fucking truckload of handkerchiefs
wouldn't beenough to undo the damage.

In the end, though, he didn't go with either impulse.
In the end hejust held the door open to let Fraser in, and mumbled
somethingabout needing to change his shirt.

So he waved Fraser in and then went to pull something
off the still-pretty-clean pile, and it wasn't until he stepped
back into theliving room that another piece of the puzzle snicked
into place inhis mind, and he found himself leaning against the
doorway staringat Fraser -- at Fraser's profile, actually, since
Fraser wasstanding at parade rest in front of his window, looking
out; talland correct and silent. And he knew he should say
something, butright now he didn't seem to be capable of saying anything,
not whilehis head was buzzing all this, with everything.

The queer thing, that was it.

When he looked at Fraser now, he saw 'Fraser -- queer',
and thatlittle thought totally spun his wheels, because Fraser
was justso... pure.

Queerboy. Choirboy. Imagine that.

It twisted him somehow. It made him feel like there
was too much,just too much he didn't know, too much that he never
would haveguessed. Too many surprises, and a whole bunch of
almost-panic atthe thought of what the next surprise might be...

...So what did that make him? And why couldn't
he just picksomething and stick with it? Because it seemed like,
no matter what,even if he took a good long look at himself and he
turned out to bea full-bore flaming homo, it had to be easier than
what he'd beengoing through; easier than wondering and fearing and
wanting andstruggling and not knowing, not ever-ever knowing.

Turned out it wasn't an explosion he was waiting for.
It was animplosion, everything caving in on itself, all of
it, and just likethe first time, just like the last time, when he got
this close, gotthis far, nothing else seemed to matter except...

His feet moved, long strides that felt funny but felt
right, too,like he had a purpose here, dammit, and he didn't
care what itlooked like. And then he was in front of the window,
and eye-to-eyewith Fraser, who turned right to him, turned right
around to facehim, and Fraser looked nothing like the kind
of guy who gave blow-jobs in the front seats of cars and came in his pants
with just onetouch, nothing at all like the kind of horndog who
didn't know howto say 'no'--

He couldn't do it. Somehow couldn't stand there and
not touch him.Couldn't go to dinner and pretend, couldn't hold himself
back. Notfor another minute of his life, not even for a second.
So Fraserwould have to do it for him. Any holding back that
had to be done,Fraser would have to do it.

"Tell me." His own voice sounded much too rough, much
too angry inhis ears. He didn't remember reaching out but apparently
he'd justgone ahead and done it, because now he had one hand
hooked behindFraser's neck, and the other burrowed under the tunic
and curledtight into the waistband of Fraser's pants, pulling
their bodiestogether.

Fraser's eyes were wide and dark, full of that strange
openness,that complete lack of fear, that heat that
he just didn't get, hedidn't get it -- "Tell you what, Ray?"

He slid his hand up the back of Fraser's neck and into
that softhair, one quick second to appreciate how the curve
of skull fit justright in his palm before he tugged Fraser close, close
enough toalmost touch, almost kiss. "Tell me no, Fraser.
Tell me that."

A spark, a curl, a glint of something burning down
far away, fardeep in there in Fraser's eyes, far past the point
where he couldsee. "No, Ray."

He heard it and his heart slammed in his chest,
and for a splitsecond he was so hot, white-hot, because he'd asked
for it and nowby God he'd got it and it was-wasn't-was what he wanted.
He couldlet go now. He could let go.

His whole body shuddered hard. Once.

He couldn't let go.

Not now.

He shifted his feet, braced himself. "Tell me again,
Fraser." Onemore time, one more time and he'd be able to let go,
be able to takethe answer inside him, where it could fight for space
with all therest of the stuff he didn't want to think about right
now, all thestuff he didn't want to know about himself.

And Fraser looked so strange, staring into his eyes
that way --hungry and satisfied all at the same time, like he
was intosomething, getting something out of just looking.
"I won't. I won'tsay no, Ray."

Everything stood still for just a second -- the room,
Fraser,himself -- everything frozen, everything locked. Then
he felt hisface go red-hot, and just like that everything unfroze,
and he wasfree. Free to... what? What was he free to do, exactly?

He swallowed. "What if I say it?"

Fraser's hands came up close, traced a soft, slow line
over -- ofall weird places -- his throat. "Are you saying no?"

Thud-thump. Thud-thump.

Beat of head. Beat of heart. Familiar, but no hangover
this time, noexcuse. Just the realization that he'd hit a wall,
a wall with adoor in it, and he could either continue to hurl himself
at it untilhe was bruised and beaten, or he could turn the knob
and walk rightthrough.

"No." He couldn't hear it, just felt the vibration
in his throatunder Fraser's fingers when he said it. "I mean, I'm
not saying noeither."

And then it kind of caught up with him: what he'd just
not said noto, what he'd basically said yes to, what he'd
just put at risk,but Fraser's tongue was already slipping over his
own and Fraser'sbody was pressed hard against him, and then there
wasn't a lot oftime to think about it.

There was time to feel it, though, along with the muscle-loosening,dick-hardening, pulse-pounding reality of Fraser getting
into it,making out, taking over -- a low, distant, thundery
sort of sadness,a brief wish that somehow he could have kept this
one thing safefrom the kind of disaster he constantly brought down
on himself.Fraser was... a good partner. And a good friend...

...And a really, really good kisser. Hot, and
hungry, and deep --kind of an 'out of this world' kisser, because Ray
was having a hellof a time remembering that there was a world
outside of thesekisses, outside of having Fraser's arms around him
and Fraser'shands all over him, outside of what Fraser felt like
when he lethimself go like this.

Then there was a moment, sharp and immediate, when
he could feelFraser's shoulders pulling away from his hands, when
Fraser's handsheld his face away while Fraser stared into his eyes,
and Ray had toblink to focus, to see more than a soft, blurred haze
of want.

"Are you saying yes, Ray?"

He felt his head bob up and down. Yeah, yeah, hadn't
they coveredthat?

"What are you saying yes to, Ray?"

It was funny, but he'd never been in this kind of position
before,never been the one who could just relax and let things
happen tohim. And oh, Jesus, it scared the crap out of him
but he liked it-- he liked it a lot. He licked his lips, tasted
Fraser there, andhis stomach knotted up for a second with the desire
to have Fraser'staste, his smell, everywhere, everywhere he could
reach and someplaces he couldn't.

Slut -- he was a fucking slut. For this. For Fraser.
He took a deepbreath, a Fraserless breath that felt cold inside
him, and shivered.

"Anything? Everything?" Didn't seem to be much point
in botheringwith anything less, not at this stage in the game.
Not consideringwhat it was probably going to cost him.

And maybe Fraser knew that, or sensed it somehow, because
Fraserdidn't push for anything more but just started stripping
him out ofhis clothes, kissing all the bare places as they were
exposed. Rayjust let it happen, let everything -- fear, and regret,
and tense,maddening lust -- just roll over and through him,
let it shake him,take him, pull him wide open.

Some of it was weird -- deeply, terribly weird. Like
being down onthe floor all of a sudden, naked as a jaybird and
straddlingFraser's lap -- Fraser's fully clothed lap -- and
being held in away that seemed completely wrong for two guys who
were supposed tobe rolling around and getting their jollies (not that
he'd know, notthat he had the faintest clue about this whole thing).

Like being held in a way that made him press his face
down intoFraser's scratchy, uniformed shoulder -- because Fraser's
strongarms and solid body felt so fucking good that
it made his eyessting, and he had no idea how Fraser could have known
that he neededto be held like that when he hadn't known himself,
but Fraser knew,and so Fraser held him and didn't make a big deal
out of it, but itwas a big deal, it was.

Made him wonder what else Fraser'd known all along.

And yeah, it was weird when Fraser finally pulled back
from him,left him a weak and horny puddle on the floor and
finally startedgetting out of that damned itchy wool, when Fraser
tugged somethingout of his pocket -- a small bottle, a few packets
-- and shruggedat him, when he finally managed to tear his eyes away
from that andlook at Fraser's flushed, rueful face...

"The curse of the optimist, Ray."

And maybe he should've been pissed about that but instead
it justjerked this short, surprised laugh out of him, so
he didn't botherto get pissed. Instead he paid attention to the way
his heartbeatwas shaking him, even like this, laid out flat on
the floor, watchedFraser strip, and murmured:

"Pretty sure I'd be easy, huh?"

Fraser shook his head. "You are many things, Ray, but
'easy' is notamong them."

Before he could decide whether to feel flattered or
insulted, Fraserwas on him and doing things to him again, both of
them naked thistime so there was a lot more Fraser to feel, now,
a whole lot of it,all smooth and warm, like his mouth; he was like his
mouth all overhis body, and the world went away again, flamed away
on tongues andrough fingers and the fire of hard, desperate cocks
until later,much later, when he was kneeling up with Fraser right
behind him,shaking in Fraser's arms like something was wrong,
really wrongwith him...

But there couldn't be anything wrong, because Fraser
had him tightand solid, and Fraser had fingers pressing inside
him now (inside!God!), and he couldn't stop rocking back, shocking
himself with it,and he could hear his own voice, low and rough, saying
over and overthat this was good, this was good, this was just so
fucking good.

"Easy, Ray. It's all right." He heard that from far
away, and thenFraser tilted him, shifted him forward so he went,
went down, wentforward and put his hot face down on the scratchy,
but significantlycooler carpet, because he trusted Fraser. And he stayed
where Fraserput him and then he waited, thinking to himself that
he was beingvery patient, for someone who was about ten strokes
past crazy.

Even though he was shaking he felt calm until one big
hand grippedhis hip and he felt a snub, slick touch right where
he was hungriest-- not fingers, no way was that fingers -- and the
truth of whatthis was and who was with him sank home all in one
hot, spasmingsecond and then, before he could blink, or protest,
or take a secondeven to figure out what that incredible rush meant,
he was coming,squirting all over his own chest and rocking and groaning
loudenough to make his own ears hurt.

And of course he expected Fraser to stop, then, to
back off a littleand let him pull himself together, but instead Fraser
nudged at him,pushed, and he felt himself flex and then Fraser
just strokedright into him, right in deep, and his entire body
went rigid andthere was pain and he was still coming, shaking, gasping
-- God! --taking it, taking everything Fraser had to give, utterly
unable --finally, finally -- to hold anything back.

He came down slowly, relaxing one muscle at a time
into a body thatwas already full beyond bearing. Full of pleasure,
full ofembarrassment, full of Fraser -- and that still
seemedunbelievable, absolutely unreal, but all he had to
do was tightendown to know that, yes, that was Fraser back there,
that was Fraserin him, around him, everywhere.

"Perfect," Fraser breathed in his ear, stroking him
-- such astrong, sure touch -- stroking down his wet chest,
his belly,stroking up his thighs, holding him, touching him,
in every way hecould be touched. "You're perfect, so perfect --"
and he was soentranced by that, by the fact that Fraser could actually
saythat, that he barely noticed when Fraser started to
move again untilthey were already there, in rhythm, back and forth
and in and outand deep and slow and...

...And this was a lot more than he'd bargained for.
This went so farpast what he'd bargained for that he couldn't even
see there fromhere. After all this time of not getting it, of not
understandingwhat Fraser wanted, now he was starting to get it
-- and it wasn'tjust his ass. Not that simple. A truth communicated
to him throughtouch, through patience, through steady, smooth, stroke
after strokeof slow pleasure -- Fraser wasn't into his ass. Fraser
was intohim.

Fraser was into him.

And that changed everything. He let himself go under,
gave himselfup to sound and smell and the lapping ripples of sweet,
unbearablesensation that spread, wider and deeper, softening
him, tenderizinghim from the inside out, straight from Fraser's center
to his own. Amainline.

He felt Fraser push deep inside him, felt each stroke
connectdirectly to his dick, pumping it up, tingling sensation,
so soon, sofast, until he pushed back, thrust forward, learning
the motion,absorbing it, absorbing Fraser, dizzy from trying
to sort out onesensation from another.

Sweat. His chest, wet with it, with come, smeared by
Fraser'sfingers. He heard his name, lost among moans. Heard
himself fightfor breath.

He pushed hard into air until he felt Fraser's hand
there, as smoothand warm as the rest of him, a strong hold, perfect,
and he had toopen his eyes, had to see. Looked down and saw an
old scar onFraser's knuckle, barely visible in the dim light.
Something wildand lionhearted thundered against him when he pushed
back, teethrasped on the nape of his neck, and he felt obedient
blood rising tothe surface. Blood rising, slowly but surely; a ripening
and heavy-wet smell of desire. An upside-down world, the long
reach of viewdown his own body, Fraser's pale, strong hand on his
hard wet cock,raw and shocking.

When the deliberate rhythm stuttered apart he gasped,
caught on aspike of excitement, skittering along like a kicked
pebble acrossthe surface of his own lust. Catching up. Reaching
back for ahandful of hot, smooth-skinned muscle, the flex and
rock and ragged,shallow pounding of need.

Low hunger in his belly, a thigh-clenching, cock-throbbing,
tightand urgent greed for this, fucking Fraser's
hand and takingeverything he wanted, pulling Fraser to him and demanding
-- do it,let it go, let me have it -- and then he was slammed
forward so hardhe almost went down flat. Fraser's arm curled up under
his shoulderand pulled him back, pulled him into it, and Fraser
made somedesperate sound like an animal and shoved one last
time and thenFraser was coming inside him, rigid and groaning and
bucking andstroking until Ray was there, right where Fraser
was, twisted withpleasure and pulsing out, out, out; the wild, mingled
sound of theirvoices something bright and strange and wonderful.

It hadn't seemed possible that Fraser might... that
Fraser would...that Fraser could possibly want him back. Not want
him back as apartner, but want him also.

Ray sighed, burrowed closer to Fraser's drowsing body
beside his.Felt like himself for the first time in a long time,
which wasstrange, too, since he wasn't sure he'd ever really
known who he wasbefore. He'd missed something pretty important, missed
itcompletely. Thank God for Fraser, who hadn't given
up on him, hadn'tlet him throw it all away, even when he thought that
was exactlywhat he was doing.

"You could've said something, you know," Ray mumbled
into the armunder his head.

"I thought I had," Fraser said against Ray's shoulder.

Using every ounce of energy left in his sore, sated
body, Ray rolledover to face Fraser.

"Not so much with words," Fraser continued, aligning
his body toRay's, holding him snugly against his chest. "I'm
afraid words tendto desert me just when they might prove the most useful,
but --"

"With what you did," Ray finished the sentence for
him, and saw agrateful little smile flicker across Fraser's face.

"That's right," Fraser said quietly.

"Cuz you don't do casual relationships," Ray said.

Fraser moved against him. "That's very perceptive,
Ray."

Ray snorted. "Not as much as you'd think."

Fraser raised an eyebrow at him, and Ray gave in to
the temptationto trace it with his index finger.

"I sort of accidentally heard you tell Darnell that,"
he said.

"Accidentally?"

"Okay, on purpose," Ray said, then decided maybe it
was time todistract Fraser before he got a lecture about eavesdropping.
"Toldyou he was on the make."

"So you did," Fraser said, "And I told you I wasn't
interested inhim."

"You did not," Ray said, indignant, because
he would haveremembered that. That might have saved
him a world of hurt.

"Yes, I did." Firm, confident, that voice. That voice
hadn't justspent the last couple of months tied up in knots.

"No, you didn--"

Mouth on his, familiar, warm, like the night in the
foyer of theConsulate -- a slick, heated blur.

"I told you there wasn't anything improper about our
friendship,"Fraser said against his mouth, licking in between
the words.

Ray struggled not to fall back under. Some stuff left
to be said,important stuff, and Fraser was still talking:

"I wasn't interested in him. I didn't want him."

Oh God. So sure of himself, Fraser was so sure
of himself. For aminute, Ray felt envy rise up in him, sharp and bitter.
What hewouldn't have given to be that certain of who he was,
what heneeded, instead of stumbling along as he had, shredded
up inside,unsure about everything except the fact that nothing
had been theway he wanted it.

He pulled himself back, forced himself to concentrate
on Fraser'swords. God knew they'd had enough silence.

So he put his head back down and closed his eyes, and
let it be allright. Even as sore and tired as he was, there was
something in himthat said Fraser still wasn't close enough, so he
reached out andgot a big armful and hung on tight, and Fraser squeezed
him back,and that made it even all righter.

He felt muscles loosen up that he hadn't even realized
were tense,felt himself relax for the first time since he'd seen
CharlieDarnell look at Fraser like it was suppertime and
he was the blueplate special.

He'd wanted to spare Fraser some grief, and he'd ended
up the onedoing the grieving. Had wanted to protect him, and
ended up the onecaught off-guard.

He wondered why he could figure out little things on
a case withoutany trouble, but big things, like the fact that his
wife didn't lovehim anymore, or that maybe, just possibly, his partner
did, wentright over his head.

Maybe it was time to stop thinking so much, maybe thinking
too muchwas what got him tangled up in that coil in the first
place, and heought to just quit it, just feel for awhile. Open
his eyes and earsand see what Fraser had to say for himself. He could
spread a littleblame here, if he played it right. The whole debacle
couldn't beall his fault.

He moved a little, ready to tell Fraser this was all
his fault,looking forward to it, almost, the fuss and bother
that wouldfollow, the indignant huffs Fraser would puff; yeah,
he might haveto get physical with him -- but Fraser wouldn't let
him pull back,not even an inch. Fraser kept him sealed right up
against his body,skin to skin.

Ray subsided. Okay, yeah, that worked, too.

Close. Protected. Guarded.

God, it was sweet. So sweet, to be like this, heartbeats
blended,mingled breath, inching towards sleep. He wondered
if Fraser feltit, too. Then Fraser's hand moved slowly, slid from
tight on hisback to light on his chest, settling right over his
heart, pressingthere, and it felt like a kiss.

Yeah, Fraser felt it.

Maybe he hadn't figured it all out yet, had a long
way to go, butthat much Ray knew.